The Value In Damaged Goods
by SilverSentinal21
Summary: When someone in Hetty's life needs help she calls Gibbs for a favor. How will her latest mystery affect Callen's life this time? Parings: Tiva, McAbby, Neric, Densi... and Callen/OC maybe! As this cannot be canon anymore I officially declare my freedom and advise you all to strap in! PLEASE NOTE: This story has both teams from NCIS, and NCIS: LA. But I don't see it as a crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs arrived at his desk at 0630 ready to finish the paperwork for the case that his team had just wrapped up. The office was still quiet and empty, and he could work as quickly and quietly as possible. He needed to take care of the final details so that they could just put it behind them. The physical and emotional toll he and his team had endured for the last six weeks had left them all exhausted. It wasn't very often that he wished for a slow workweek, but they all needed one desperately. He sent off the final documents when his cell phone rang.

He sighed as he reached for his phone, knowing that getting a call before 0700 that something would destroy his wish. "Gibbs."

"Good morning Leroy. How are you today?"

Something in between a wince and a smile broke out on his face when he heard the familiar voice. "Hetty Lange, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need a favor, one that will leave me owing you quite a large debt."

"I'm listening."

"Jenny trusted you more than any other person on this Earth. I need someone I can trust to escort a very important person from London, to our office here."

He still felt the air rush out of him when somebody mentioned Jenny. He felt a faint ache in his gut, but he pushed it down. His dry throat dry making his voice rougher. "Why not send G. or one of the others on your own team?"

"Because I haven't told them this person is arriving. The mission is sensitive and I'm not authorized to read them in until you get here."

"Am I allowed to know who this person is?"

"I will send you the information you need when you've arrived in London."

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. "What do I tell Vance?"

"I've already taken care of that, and you have use of the Gulf Stream Jet."

"If it was anyone else but you Hetty..."

"I know. I thank you for this, and you just call me whenever you need to cash in. No questions asked."

"Deal. When do I leave?"

"Tonight, 2330."

"Okay then, let me square away my team and I'll see you soon."

"Thank you again Leroy."

"Hetty isn't it about time for you to be in bed? It's 0330 there."

"Indeed. It's fortunate that at this time in my life sleep is not as big of a necessity."

"Sweet dreams, Hetty."

"Have a good day Leroy."

The click and dial tone ended the conversation just as his team began to file in. As usual, Tony broke quiet of the morning. "Hey Boss, phone calls already? Did you leave a date wanting more?"

In a way, Gibbs welcomed the younger man's often inappropriate and juvenile sense of humor. It meant that things would get back to normal, even after the particularly horrific case they had just solved. Still, he made sure that his hand had the same force of impact as usual when it made contact.

"Got it Boss!" Tony yelped.

Later that night, Gibbs packed a small bag of essentials together for his trip. He still couldn't quite work out why Hetty had chosen him for this escort duty. The truth was he had only met her, a handful of times. Jenny had known Hetty all of her life, and had dragged him to one of Hetty's houses shortly after they first became partners, before Paris and the start of their relationship as lovers. Only in his deepest thoughts would he ever admit that it had been almost as nerve-wracking as meeting Shannon's parents for the first time.

If Hetty needed his help, he was very glad to give it. He just hated being in the dark about things. Suddenly, his cell buzzed with a text message. He reached across to the table next to his bed and picked it up. _"Leroy, I forgot to ask you, how is your Russian?"_

He couldn't help but chuckle. Even in a text Hetty, had to go straight for a man's pride. _"Herosho."_ He replied, knowing she would understand that he wasn't too rusty.

_"Good. You'll need it. Your flight leaves in an hour. Do svidaniya."_

The drive was mercifully quick, and traveling by a private jet eliminated airport hassle. When he boarded the plane he saw one other armed agent, but his gut screamed that this was something huge. He was glad he had taken two extra knives and another backup gun. One could never be too prepared in an unknown situation. For the moment, he sat back to get some sleep. It was a long flight.

His eyes snapped open when his phone started buzzing and vibrating, jerking him out of a rare dreamless sleep. Although he desperately needed some coffee, he knew better than to keep Hetty waiting. _"Good Morning Leroy. A nice lady is going to come and give you a cup of strong coffee, and a clean and secure cell phone. Turn yours off and thank Louise kindly."_

A moment later, a pretty blond appeared at his side. "Good morning agent Gibbs. We'll be landing in five minutes. Here is your new phone, which you will need to use until you've arrived safely, and your morning coffee. Would you like something to eat, a bagel, or a muffin, perhaps?"

"Nope, this is good. Thanks Louise." he replied with a wry smile.

A bright smile lit up the young woman's face. "You're welcome agent Gibbs, and I'll be sure to let Hetty know you are a perfect gentleman."

Something about the young woman was infectious; an all-too-rare, full-blown smile appeared on his face. "You do that, I need all the favor I can get."

"You can count on me," she replied and quietly walked away.

Gibbs turned on his phone and immediately a message popped up. _"It's a good thing you don't smile like that too often Leroy. If you did, every woman you met would be blushing and flustered. I don't think poor Louise will be able to focus the rest of the day."_

Gibbs scoffed, but he did have a small measure of pride that he wasn't too old to still be slightly attractive to pretty girls. Despite what most people (including his own team) thought, he had the same desires and vanities as ordinary men. Before he could reply, another message popped up.

_"Don't scoff Leroy. Jenny was quite correct when she said your charm, (when you choose to use it)_ _is quite over powering; but let's get back to the matter at hand. The plane should be landing right at this very minute..."_

Sure enough, he felt a slight bump as the plane touched down. _"Okay Hetty, enough stalling. How will I know who I'm babysitting?"_

_"She will find you. She will be wearing a gray dress, a red hat, and she will call you Misha. Please Leroy, nothing about this assignment is comparable to babysitting. Mind your manners."_

_"I'll do my best Hetty. What else do I need to know?"_

_"She will take care of that."_

He exited the plane and began to look around for a red hat. He hated London in winter; cold and foggy, its grayness oppressed him. As he approached the private lounge, he caught a quick glimpse of a pair of red high heels. Four wives had taught him that women usually coordinated their footwear with their hats, so he found a spot to get a better view of the woman.

He finally spotted a young woman in a gray dress and a red hat, probably about Abby's age. Even though she sat at a table with a cup of tea, he could see her very long legs under the table, hinting that she was tall. She had her hair pulled up under her wide brim hat but the few visible strands were an extremely dark red. Her head was down, so he could not get a good look at her face yet, but the one feature that jumped out at him was her skin.

She was extremely fair, even more so than Abby, yet she did not look sickly. From what little he could see, she had no freckles, nor marks of any kind, something very rare for redheads. He kept out of her line of sight for about ten minutes, and then decided that he needed another cup of coffee. Getting a good cup of coffee in London was nearly impossible but he was desperate.

Before he could place his order, a soft, delicate Russian voice filled his ears. "Misha! Oh Misha, how I've missed you."

He turned around and it took every ounce of his training and control not to show his ire at this girl for sneaking up on him, especially in those shoes! She stepped forward, kissing him on the cheeks. He knew she was expecting him to do the same, and he didn't disappoint her. When he stepped back, he replied in fluent Russian, "I'm here now. I've missed you too."

"When are we going to go home?"

"We can leave now, if you want."

"Yes, it will be so good to see mama again."

"Let's get you home little one."

He wrapped his arm around her and they turned toward the plane. She leaned into his side as closely as possible, and turned her face to whisper into his ear. "Thank you so much for coming for me."

"Of course little one." He replied in English for the benefit of the people passing by, lest they thought he was an old man with a Russian prostitute.


	2. Chapter 2

When they stepped on the plane, the young woman stepped out of the crook of Gibbs' arm, sat down, and began speaking English. "Forgive me, Agent Gibbs. In general, I dislike sneaking up on people and hanging all over them. I assure you, it was necessary."

Gibbs took the seat opposite her. "Not a problem. It'd be nice to know your name though. I usually know a lady's name before getting so cozy."

The young woman smiled sweetly. "My name is Tatyana Levovna Romanskia. I'm sorryHetty decided to keep you in the dark. I'll answer anything that won't get me put in prison, or shot."

Now that she was right in front of him, Gibbs stared hard to try to size her up. He was right about her being tall. He put her at around five foot seven without the shoes. She was extremely slender, which made her seem small, almost fragile. Nevertheless, she had felt quite sturdy and solid against him. She obviously had extreme control over her body since she had managed to sneak up behind him on those stilts.

She had confidence that was obvious to him. It seemed at odds with her soft voice, but it radiated from her like light from the sun. She met his stare straight on and kept on smiling. Her face reminded him of an old cameo broach his mother had worn. Her features were extremely delicate: she had a very lovely nose, and her eyes were a deep gray with tiny flecks of dark blue. They reminded him of wet slate. However, what really stood out to him was the pain he saw within them. He knew that pain; he saw it in Ziva's eyes, especially after the disaster in Somalia. He couldn't help but wonder what she had been through to give her such pain.

She wasn't considered beautiful in the world of those Kardashians Tony constantly lusted over, but she did pull you in. His gut told him to trust her, and he trusted his gut above all else. "Call me Jethro. It's a pleasure to meet you Tatyana. I thought you'd be an American NCIS agent."

"The pleasure is mine Jethro. I'm not an NCIS agent, technically, but I am an American."

He leaned back in his seat and smiled a half-smile. "That is one convincing British accent you have, and your Russian is flawless. I don't know anyone who isn't a native speaker to do as well."

She crossed her ankles and fastened her seatbelt. "Oh the British accent is real enough. My mother was British, and we lived here. As for the Russian, I am also a native speaker in a way; it's my first language. My father was Russian. I've got citizenship in Britain, Russia, and the USA, so you see I am an American as well."

A slight frown settled across his face. "I've heard of dual citizenship, but three countries?"

"It is complicated," she sighed, preparing to repeat the oft told story. "I'll try to explain. My father was born in St. Petersburg, although I suppose to be accurate, it was Petrograd at the time. When he was eighteen, he received permission to go to America to attend Yale. While he was there he managed to defect, and he became a US citizen. He later came to England and met my mother. My great-grandmother, was the youngest daughter of a Duke, and she scandalously eloped with an Irish-American officer during the Great War. My grandmother was raised in the US and had dual citizenship. She later married a Duke herself and settled in Ireland. When my mother was born, my grandparents applied for her to have US citizenship as well. They wanted to be able for her to get out if another World War started. When my father married her, they decided to stay in the UK, so he received dual citizenship. I received it when I was born."

The corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement at this unique family history. "But how could you get Russian citizenship? Your father must have renounced it when he defected."

"Oh he absolutely did!" she affirmed emphatically. "However, when the wall came down he wanted it back. He quite rightly believed that even though he had to walk away, he had a right to his heritage now that the Communist Block was shifting into something else. He wanted to reclaim himself. Also, my mother had died shortly before and he wanted me to know his family, his roots. His family had quite a bit of power, so he got his citizenship back for us both."

He shook his head. "Well, that's quite a story."

Her smile got a little bigger. "One of many."

"How do you know Hetty?"

Her eyes became a little sadder. "I've known her a very long time. I met her when my mother died. She's trained me well."

"But you're not NCIS." He retorted with a hard stare.

She didn't flinch. "I am many things."

"Care to elaborate?"

Her posture stiffened and the smile left her face. "I'm an analyst."

His glare sharpened as he watched her put her guard up. "CIA?"

She nodded, and tilted her head to the right. "Among others. I've done work for every agency for the US, and UK, and occasionally when either or both need to work with the Russians, I'll help there too. Occasionally, I'll do work for the SVR."

The hardness left his face and he leaned forward. "What makes you so valuable?"

She folded her hands in her lap. "Hyperthymesia. I can remember everything."

"Everything?" He snorted in disbelief.

His disbelief and mild derision didn't concern her. "Yes. Ask me anything that happened to me in the last twenty-seven years and I can not only tell you every detail, I see it in my head like a movie."

His eyebrows raised a fraction. "That's a handy skill to have."

The plane started moving down the runway, and she turned to look out the window. "It isn't a skill, it's a medical condition; but I also have an eidetic memory as well."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Sensing that her companion was becoming more curious than cynical, she relaxed. "No. With my hyperthymesia, I can remember every moment of my life past age three. My eidetic memory is what allows me to read a thousand pages in less than ten minutes. I process information faster than anyone on the planet."

A faint amused grin ghosted across his lips. "So nobody beats you in trivia games."

Her face turned bright pink at his light teasing. "I don't play them. It isn't fair," sheadmitted.

The plane lifted off the ground with a loud roar. Once it leveled out he swallowed to redistribute the pressure in his ears. "Okay, so why am I here?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and winced when her ears popped. "Hetty needs me for an OP and I needed an escort. I requested you."

"Why me?"

Her smile turned sad, and her voice filled with affection. "Jenny Shepard was a good friend to me. I helped her out the last time she was in Europe. She's mentioned you a lot over the years, so I knew I could trust you."

His grip tightened on the arms of his seat, remembering the time Jenny had gone off the grid. He had come so close to rushing out to find her. It had been years ago, and he couldn't help still feeling angry by her actions. "What did she say?"

Tatyana's voice became even softer. "She said she needed to hurry otherwise you'd be an idiot and go after her. She couldn't decide if you were going to hug her if you caught her, or strangle her."

"If I had to go after her... definitely the latter!" he growled.

Her eyes twinkled as if she saw something that was supposed to be hidden. "That's what she thought too. At the time, I didn't believe her. Now, I'm fairly certain that you would have hugged her."

He shook his head slightly. "What makes you so sure?"

She looked deep into his eyes like she was reading a book. "There's something about your eyes. I have a feeling that when you're truly angry they don't look so bright."

The plane finally reached cruising altitude and Gibbs unbuckled his seatbelt. "Why weren't you at...?"

"I couldn't be there." she interrupted before he could finish the question. "I was involved with an OP and I didn't hear about her death until months later." Her voice was strained and a little shaky.

Gibbs noticed her whole body began to tremble. Whatever had happened to her had happened around the time of Jenny's death. He felt bad that he had brought up those memories, especially since she re-lived hers. He took a bottle of water out of his pack and handed it to her.

He kept his voice soft and soothing. "Here, drink this and breathe deep."

She shut her eyes tightly trying to block the barrage of images, sounds and remembered scents from that horrible day. Taking a deep breath she opened them and reached for the water. She took a long drink and started peeling the label off. "Thank you Jethro. Sorry about that. My memory makes me valuable, but it can be a curse."

"Never apologize; it's a sign of weakness."

A frown settled over her face. "Ah yes, your infamous list of rules. I read your file, and Jenny told me them. Tell me something, how do you seek forgiveness without apologizing?"

Taking another bottle, he drained half of it in one gulp. "Rule 51: Sometimes you're wrong."

Her eyebrows furrowed together. "A recent addition. Admitting fault isn't the same as expressing remorse," she replied in a disapproving tone.

He smirked. "No it isn't."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward. "And you don't believe in remorse?"

He shrugged and took another drink of water. "It's useless. You can't go back and change things. Feeling bad accomplishes nothing."

"Well that explains it." She said as if she finally had the answer to a mystery that had eluded her for a long time.

"Explains what?"

She finished her water and placed the bottle in the cup holder. "It explains how a man of your quality could have three ex-wives. I couldn't figure that out. Everything I knew about you contradicted that behavior pattern."

He chuckled and smirked at her innocence. "I'm not good at marriage."

"We both know that's not true Jethro," she whispered.

Louise came up and asked if they needed anything, and Tatyana requested some Kava tea. The disgusted look on Gibbs face made her laugh softly, "It helps alleviate stress Jethro. Believe me; I need all of the help I can get. I've never lived in the US before. The longest I've ever stayed was three days."

"Somehow I doubt you'll be uncomfortable for long Tatyana."

Her face hardened and she began playing with the pieces of paper form the bottle's label. "It's also my first time doing any type of field work whatsoever. I've trained with the best of the best in three different countries, but I'm still the weakest link because of inexperience." She gathered up the shreds and put them in the empty bottle. "I don't want anyone to die because of me," she whispered, a flash of fear settling in her eyes.

"We all start somewhere."

She visibly shuddered and shook her head vigorously. "This is the only time for me; once this is over I go back to where I belong."

"Then why do it?"

A look of pure hate flashed across her face. Her voice became frigid. "Because the man this OP is after is worse than Hitler, Stalin, Bin Laden, and Milosevic, combined. If he gets what he's after it will make the first two world wars look like child's play." Her fingers began digging into her palm hard.

Gibbs reached over and gently pried her fingers open. "Who is this guy?"

She turned her palm over, looking at the red welts as if they were a mirage. "He's a warlord in Chechnya, the worst of the worst. He's as intelligent as he's insane. His goal is to destroy Russia, and then basically attempt take over the world by starting another deadlier Cold War."

He tilted his head slightly. "Sounds like a bad guy in one of DiNozzo's movies."

She let out a soft laugh full of agony. "Believe me, I wish he was just an archetype of fiction but he is very real. I've experienced what he's capable of first hand."

"How? You've never been in the field."

She took a sip of her tea, wishing that it would do what it claimed and calm her down. "When I was in Moscow coordinating Intel with the SVR and MI6 for an OP, his men found me, kidnapped me, and held me for six weeks."

Gibbs' eyes filled with admiration at her willingness to go back to those memories and go into the field to get this guy. "Name?"

Her voice cracked as she spoke the name. "Alexander Brazanlov."

"He isn't on our wall."

Tatyana closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She prayed that the headache she felt coming on wouldn't develop into a migraine. "He wouldn't be. The only reason we discovered him is that he took me when I was helping with OP that had nothing to do with him. After they rescued me, the US, the UK, and Russia classified everything at the highest levels. However, Brazanlov showed up in LA."

"And NCIS has the investigation in LA. How do they know who he is?"

"They don't. Hetty knows about him because she's listed as one of my emergency contacts. She hasn't gotten clearance to tell them, until I give them a positive ID. If Brazanlov is there, we could get him before he gets any real power."

"If he captured you, he'll probably recognize you."

She sat up and took another sip of tea. "He never saw me; his men were the only ones with me. Nevertheless, I heard everything. They loved speakerphones. As I said, I remember everything I experience. I'm the world's only living expert on this man, and he must be stopped."

Gibbs checked her hand then stood up. "Well, I'vegotta hit the head."

She grimaced at the comment but then leaned back in her seat and began re-living her most happy memories. It was the only way to drown out the horror movie of being captive playing in her brain. She did like Gibbs, she knew she would; but she had underestimated the effect telling him about her mission would have on her. She wouldn't be planning on a full night's rest for a long time.

Through her memories, she was in a field in Devon, on a picnic with her parents when she heard the tiniest click of a switchblade. Without thinking, she pulled the pin out of her hat and jumped out of the seat. The few seconds of distraction that her sudden movements bought her was enough time for her to ram her knee into her attacker's groin. When he doubled over, she jabbed the hatpin into his jugular, barely noticing the sound of a shattering teacup.

Gibbs stormed out, gun drawn, to find the agent traveling with them unconscious, sprawled out in the aisle on his stomach, and Tatyana pale with rage. "He's down Gibbs," she whispered. "The sedative I gave him will last at least sixteen hours. We should lock him in the lavatory. Bugger, I knocked over my tea!"

Gibbs pulled the hatpin out of the man's neck, he would make this traitor pay when he woke up. "Interesting choice of weapon," he said handing the pin to her.

"It's effective; I don't care much about image." She took the pin and a wipe from her purse. When Gibbs returned to their seats, she wiped the pin clean. "These wipes have a special formula created by some of my friends. If you took my pin to Miss Sciuto, she wouldn't find any trace of drugs, DNA, or blood, on it. I prefer things as sanitary as possible. Considering we have a live prisoner, we don't need my pin for evidence."

His eyes burned with rage, but he took a deep breath to compose himself and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "You handled yourself well."

She dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. "I might not be a field agent Jethro, but I told you before, I was trained by the best of the best of three different countries. I can handle myself; I asked for you because I needed someone I could trust to have my back."

Gibbs growled in frustration, "I think I might be getting old. You had him down before I had my gun drawn."

Tatyana closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as the niggling pain in her forehead increased. "First of all, I don't think I 'got the drop,' on you, as you say. You knew I was moving toward you, just as I knew every move you made. You knew that I would approach you, you just expected me to hesitate. As for you being in the lavatory, it's ridiculous for you to blame yourself. We both thought you had backup."

He shook his head. "I didn't know him! I should have never left your side. Tatyana, it looks like you don't need me."

The corners of her lips twitched up briefly. "I do. Somebody had to drag him to the lavatory."

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "You should learn to do that yourself."

She shrugged and kneeled down to clear up the broken china. "I never thought anyone would be trying to kill me. Until four years ago I was one of the people that are so deep in the shadows that nobody is supposed to know I exist."

He sat down and pushed the call button. "How do you thinkBrazanlov found out about you?"

She finished picking up the shards of china and set them aside. Her voice became flat as if the emotion had been drained out of her. "He has someone in SVR, that's obvious. I've been working on finding out whom the mole is, but it took me two years to recover from my kidnapping, and whoever it is, is very good. Another two years, and I am still no closer. Yet another reason I need Hetty and her resources."

Two years was a long time to recover from injuries. Gibbs' blood ran cold as he thought of the various ways that Chechnyans tortured their prisoners. "You survived, and you'll get this guy."

She stared at him trying to see if he was patronizing her. "You sound very confident."

He nodded. "I am."

Her eyes were filled with doubt. "Why?"

He smiled and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "It's my job to know."

The kindness in his voice made her relax. "I had heard rumors that you're all-knowing. I just thought that was Hetty's specialty."

"Rest up now. You did good."

He put his head back, but it didn't fool Tatyana. He would be alert until he brought her safely to Hetty. She had read the files on everyone on the plane; there was nothing to suggest any one of them might be a traitor. She didn't like Gibbs blaming himself for what happened. She hoped they would allow her to observe his interrogation. She wanted to know what she had missed. She knew sleep would be impossible, but she resolved to try to fake it as best she could. She didn't want Gibbs to think she was soft and weak.

Gibbs watched her through barely open eyelids. He had to hand it to the kid, she was brave. She definitely had skills; it didn't make sense that she was only an analyst. If she had the training she said she had, then she was more than qualified to be in the field. He knew she had told him the truth, but he couldn't figure out why an analyst needed that training.

"You think too loudly. If you have a question just ask."

He knew she wasn't sleeping, but the unexpected statement brought him out of his thoughts. "Why aren't you in the field?"

She kept her eyes closed. "My memory is too valuable to risk. I've got a lot in there that can't be lost or fall into the wrong hands. That and having three countries makes it difficult. Two would declare me a traitor if I worked exclusively for one."

"Where is your loyalty?"

"I'm on the side of whoever is in the 'right' I suppose. It's relative; you of all people know that. That said I'd never commit treason. Because of my unique circumstances, if I ever have a messy conflict of interests I can excuse myself. I usually work on joint ops between various agencies of all three."

"How did you get into intelligence work?"

"Family heritage."

"Parents?"

"Yes and my paternal grandfather was KGB."

"And your father defected?"

"He did. My father had no love for Communism. Of course, it was much harder for him to defect than usual, even with his training. He couldn't have succeeded if my grandfather hadn't looked the other way."

He sat up and tapped her on the knee. "KGB doesn't look the other way."

She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. "No, but a loving father might."

Gibbs shot her a look that clearly conveyed he didn't believe that for a second but he wanted to know more. "Go on."

Her pride showed in her face and voice. "When Papa got to the US, he was able to do work for the CIA. You've heard of the _Skull and Bones_?"

"Yeah."

"He joined. He helped uncover sleepers the KGB had based in the US; he assisted with decryption, and gave a lot of inside information on training."

"Basically he committed treason."

That statement made her giggle. "Defecting was already treason Jethro. Besides, he was loyal to Russia itself. It was the government he couldn't stand."

"And your grandfather just looked the other way?"

"Yes." She asserted. "Although he did an amazing job of making it appear, he wanted nothing more than my father's blood spilling over his own hands. Grandfather was at the highest of the highest levels of the KGB, but he resented them for killing his brother. My great-uncle was a rather outspoken poet who despised censorship. As I said, the Romanskia's are a very powerful family. When they killed his brother, my grandfather only cared about keeping the rest of his family alive. He did what he had to do to make sure they didn't question his loyalty. He loved his family more than the KGB."

"Hard to believe."

She wasn't offended by his resistance. Infact, she respected it. "For someone who was very good at fighting the KGB, I'm sure it is. But that doesn't make it untrue."

"How did your parents meet?"

She smiled brightly. "Oh they got in the same taxi during a downpour. Very random. However, even then the intelligence legacy was alive and well. My mother's grandfather was one of the founding members of GCCS. At the time, the CIA and the GCCS were running a counter intelligence OP and Papa was helping with some translation."

He got out another bottle of water and opened it. "You're connected by blood."

"Oh yes. That's why Brazanlov didn't kill me. If he had, the worst of the KGB's ghosts would have hunted him down and destroyed him. My grandfather was very good at inspiring loyalty."

"When did you meet your grandfather?"

"I was six, nearly seven; it was right after the wall fell."

"He trained you."

"Among others. He wanted me to be safe. My father died when I was sixteen; after that, I divided my time between him and my mother's family. None of them wanted me to get into this work, but with my brain, there just aren't many other options that can use my full potential."

"How did your parents die?"

She swallowed hard before she answered. Pain still got stuck in her chest when she had to talk about their deaths. "Mummy died of Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma when I was six, andPapa had a riding accident."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head to brush away the images in her mind. "I have my memories. Do you mind if I take my hair down? Normally I'd go to the lavatory and do it, but there's no room."

"Go ahead."

Tatyana pulled out the pins holding her hair up tightly and a shimmering wave of deep red flowed down past her waist. "Much better, I was well on my way to having a raging tension headache."

"You're a natural redhead."

"Yes, do you mind?" she asked innocently, knowing that he didn't.

He smirked, and his eyes sparkled. "Nope."

They kept quiet all through lunch and tried to rest during the long flight. Tatyana got out her iPOD, put in her headphones, and got lost in her music. Gibbs kept on the alert, and enjoyed the sight of all that red hair. Eventually, his new phone started buzzing again. It was Hetty; she had finally gotten his message.

_"Leroy, we've gotten your message. The man Tanechka took down was a plant. The real Jefferson was found dead an hour ago."_

_"How did she not know he was a plant?"_

_"This man, whoever he is, must have had extensive reconstructive surgery. Tanechka saw Jefferson's picture. She would have known immediately if it wasn't an exact likeness."_

_"Who knew she was coming?"_

_"Nobody except myself. The only possible way this could have happened is if Brazanlov has a way to track her for himself."_

_"I need my team to meet us as soon as we land in the States."_

_"Already taken care of, you'll be landing at JFK for re-fueling. Your team will be waiting for you. Your ETA is three hours."_

_"She's good."_

_"She's very good Leroy. Please take care of her, she's frightened."_

_"She's fine Hetty. I'll check in when we land."_

Tatyana took out her headphones, "That was Hetty."

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

"The guy in the 'head' isn't Jefferson. Jefferson was found dead an hour ago."

Tatyana focused on her memories of the picture in Jefferson's file, and the image on the man who attacked her. "He had a very good plastic surgeon. There are no visible differences between the photo I saw, and the man in the lavatory. Come on; let's find out who he is."

She stood up and walked to the back of the plane, Gibbs following closely behind. She opened the door and stepped back. "Can you drag him out so we have a bit of room? We need to get his clothes off. If I'm right he'll be covered in Tattoos that will tell me who he is."

"Brazanlov is tracking you."

"That's obvious, I wish I knew how."

"Microchip?"

"No. I had full body scans in the hospital. MRI, CAT, X-Ray, you name it. Nothing showed up."

She turned around and took a small scalpel out of her garter. "Un-cuff him please."

Gibbs complied and watched as the younger woman made cuts with surgical precision. The suit jacket came apart, and she split the sleeves of his shirt. On his right arm, there was a tattoo of a wolf with a lamb in his jaws. Gibbs opened the buttons in the front of his shirt and easily slid it off. Dozens of tattoos covered his chest and abdomen each more revealing than the last.

Tatyana began shaking, and she bit her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes and she willed herself not to cry. If this faux 'Jefferson' had a tattoo of a python swallowing a rat, wrapped around his entire left leg, then she knew who he was, and her life was in more danger than ever...

"What is it?" Gibbs whispered.

She clenched her teeth tight to stop herself from screaming. "Take off his pants, please Jethro."

He did as she asked, and as the fabric slid down the image of a python emerged. Tatyana ran into the tiny bathroom and began to vomit. Gibbs got to her side immediately. For the next ten minutes, he watched as the young woman emptied her stomach, until the dry heaves started.

"Breath deep, it's okay, you're safe now, he's asleep." He whispered soothingly into her ear.

She stood up and rinsed her mouth out. She was still shaking, but she had gotten some of her control back. "His name is Nicolai. I never knew his last name; he was one of the men who held me captive."

"I'll tighten the cuffs."

She walked out, and he cuffed Nicolai, and stuffed him back in. He found her sitting in her seat, tears streaming down her face. "I'll call Hetty; can I use your phone Jethro?"

He handed it to her. Three rings later, she heard the most beautiful sound in the universe... Hetty's voice. "Yes Leroy."

"Hetty, it's me, Tanechka." She whispered harshly.

"What happened?"

"The man, who replaced Jefferson, was one of Brazanlov's men."

"All right, I'll talk to Vance. We're keeping him in our custody, and he will talk."

"I can't make the memories stop Hetty." She whispered.

"You can get through this Tanechka, just remember something good. Remember when I took you to Milan the summer you turned fifteen."

"Yes Hetty." Her voice became hoarse.

"Re-live every moment, my dear. All you have to do is hang on until you get here. We will make this right, together. We will get Brazanlov, and discover who sold you out."

Tatyana sighed and switched to Italian, she didn't want Gibbs to listen. "I feel so weak."

Even through the rotten in-flight connection the force was still audible in Hetty's voice. "You are not weak! The fact that you are on that plane is proof of your strength."

"I humiliated myself, in front of someone I respect very much."

"However you reacted, I assure you, Gibbs doesn't hold it against you."

"I'm sure he doesn't, but..."

"I understand dear, just stop worrying about it. Let me talk to him, you sit back and remember Milan."

"I love you Hetty."

"I love you too, Tanechka."

Gibbs stuck his hand for the phone. "Yeah Hetty."

"Leroy, please be gentle with her."

"She'll be fine."

"She's extremely embarrassed."

"No reason to be."

"Let her know that."

"ETA two hours?"

"Affirmative. Your team will be there, and Leroy, Tanechka is my Abby."

"Understood."

He hung up the phone and sat down; he took her hand in his. "You are not weak. Stop torturing yourself."

Her eyes were desperate, and her voice was raw. "I need to get this man Jethro."

"You will."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They spent the next two hours in silence, and when the plane touched down Tatyana noticed he still held her hand. She looked at him, a small smile touched her lips, and she squeezed his hand softly. He squeezed back and winked, "Okay, we're not leaving this plane. Got it?"

"Of course, Jethro."

"My team will be here-"

Before Gibbs could finish Tony DiNozzo came strutting in, followed closely by Ziva and McGee. "Right now, Boss! Hello there, very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo at your service. These are agents..."

Tatyana cut him off, "McGee and David and if I'm not mistaken Miss Sciuto is also here."

"Tony, get over here and help me secure this guy!"

"On it, Boss!"

Ziva came forward and offered her hand. "It is good to meet you, Miss Romanskia."

Tatyana smiled and answered in Hebrew, "Shalom, Agent David. I am honored to meet you."

Ziva smiled; she rarely spoke Hebrew anymore. Since leaving Israel for good and becoming an American citizen, it seemed like she would never get the chance again. At times she still became desperately homesick for the culture she had left behind. It felt good to hear and respond in her native language. "Shalom, your accent is impeccable."

"I had a wonderful teacher."

"Ziva!" Gibbs called, "Over here."

Ziva sighed, and switched back to English. "We will speak later, yes."

"I need the practice. Hebrew isn't a language I get to use often."

As Ziva went to Gibbs, McGee approached her. "Hello, Miss Romanskia. I'm Tim, or you can call me McGee everyone does."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Agent McGee. I've been studying your work for some time. It is quite impressive. I hope your weekend plans aren't destroyed by being here."

"Oh no, we're always happy to back up the boss. I'm sorry your trip here hasn't gone smoothly."

For the first time since Nicolai had attacked her, Tatyana began to feel calm. She liked Timothy McGee immensely. "All's well that ends well. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about when he wrote that."

McGee smiled, "He did."

"Speaking of great authors, I must say I was very disappointed when you stopped writing your novels. I had such great fun reading them."

He looked down at floor and smiled shyly. "Thank you. However, some fans are truly fanatics. I'm not sure I ever want to stir that up again."

"That's understandable, but I had such high hopes for McGregor and Amy Sutton."

"Oh my god!" came a high-pitched voice. "Not you too! Can't anyone see that if McGregor and Sutton got together it would ruin his life?"

Tim blushed and turned to the other woman now coming toward them. "Abby, calm down, it was a compliment."

"I realize that, and I agree with Miss Romanskia that you should definitely start writing again. But seriously, Amy and McGregor cannot happen. She is not good enough for him. You need to create someone who is."

"Abbs..."

Tatyana raised her hands in surrender, "I didn't mean to start any disagreements. I just wanted to say how much I enjoy your work, Agent McGee."

"It's fine, Abby and I just see things differently." Tim replied brushing away the conflict with a flick of his hand, his voice filled with resignation.

Abby put both her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him with those wide sincere eyes. "I only want what's best for you, McGee, in everything."

He smiled the same shy half-smile that had warmed her heart from the day they

first met in person. "I know, Abby."

Abby turned to Tatyana, saw her trembling hands and wrapped her up in a hug. "Oh where are my manners! I'm Abby Sciuto, but you already knew that because you told Tony I was here. That means you must have read our files, although I'm not sure why you'd need too, and you probably can't tell me, so I'm not asking. I'm sorry your trip to the States has been so rotten, but Gibbs is the very best there is, he won't let anything get to you. G. Callen is awesome! He saved my life from a serial killer, well Sam helped, but Callen is almost as good as Gibbs is. Once you're in LA he'll keep you safe. I'm rambling; I should stop now, sorry."

Tatyana gasped from the force of the squeeze, "I am very glad to meet you, Miss Sciuto."

Abby took a deep breath and calmed down enough to take a good look at her. "I love your outfit, and those shoes are amazing."

"Nobody does shoes better than Manolo Blanik," Tatyana replied.

Gibbs came in and reached for another bottle of water. "Everybody sit down, we're going to take off. Abby, you want to tell me what you're doing here?"

"Well, it's like this... I've overloaded on vacation time, sick leave, and overtime. I'm in violation of a whole mess of federal work laws. Leon was going to force me to take a three-month vacation. I begged him to let me come with you all to LA as some of the vacation time. Here I am!"

"Abby, the last time you were in LA a serial killer got you."

She put her hands on her hips, and jutted her chin out at a stubborn angle. "Callen, Sam, and Eric saved me. I want to see them and have some fun.

Besides, you'll be there and nothing can happen to me when you're there."

"I'm busy, Abbs I can't be worried about you."

"You won't be."

"McGee!" he snapped.

"Yeah, Boss."

"As soon as we escort Miss Romanskia to Hetty you're to stick by Abby. You don't let her out of your sight until we get back to DC. I don't want her in the line of fire." He unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. His body tensed ready for unknown enemies to strike.

"Got it, Boss."

"Now everyone sit down."

Everyone sat down and the plane began its journey to the runway. Tony took out a pack of chewing gum. "Anyone want any? It's good for the ears."

His team refused by shaking their heads, but Tatyana didn't want silence right now. "No thank you, Agent DiNozzo. I find humming works better for me."

Tony wiggled his eyebrows, "What do you like to hum, Miss Ro-man-ski-a?"

Her eyes narrowed at the way he drew out the syllables of her name, but she decided to ignore it. "Cole Porter always works extraordinarily well."

A wide smile broke out on his face, "Ah yes... especially when done by Frank Sinatra."

"Perhaps it's the English in me but I was always partial to Peter Lawford."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Eh, he didn't have half of Frank's cool."

"Yet when it came to women he had a sweetness that Frank was completely without."

"Oh come on!" Tony scoffed.

The corners of her lips twitched and a wry tone filled her voice, "Agent DiNozzo, this may shock you; but not every woman finds men who automatically believe that, it's only a matter of time before she succumbs to them, attractive."

Ziva smiled and threw up her hands with joy. "Thank you! Tony has needed to taste his own medicine for a very long time. He thinks that eventually any woman he wants will be his."

Tony scowled at his partner, "Well, Zi-va that approach obviously worked for the men that grab at your heart, so there has to be some merit."

"You know nothing about my heart, Tony!" she snapped.

Tony locked his dark green eyes onto her chocolate brown ones, and stared hard. "Are you sure about that? Maybe, I know much more about your heart than you do."

"Your heart goes in so many directions, that you cannot possibly keep track of mine!" she hissed.

Tatyana's eyes widened, she had wanted lots of conversation to keep her memories at bay, but all she seemed to be doing was causing conflicts between a very close knit-group. She was just about to apologize, when Gibbs slapped both of them on the back of the head. "Behave, or I'll stick you both with Nicolai!" he growled.

"It's my fault, Jethro," she whispered.

"Nope, they get like that all the time."

The plane lurched in its assent into the skies, and Tatyana breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure what she should do, Tony and Ziva, were still glaring at each other. Jethro had his head back and his eyes appeared closed although she doubted that. McGee worked on something with his iPad, and Abby stared out the window.

"Jethro, would you mind if I sat in the seat up front?"

"Why?"

"I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic. The sedative should work for another thirteen hours. There is no real danger, especially with your team here."

Gibbs knew that two seats forward made no difference. Put a claustrophobic on an airplane, eventually panic starts. He could see it fill her eyes. Moving might help her enough to make it through the last leg of the journey, and he had no real reason to refuse her. If Louise was also a traitor, she could only come from one direction past the team, to get to Tatyana. The only reason he had called in the team was that his gut told him they'd need backup once they landed. "Go on."

Tatyana quietly moved to her new seat, and Abby kicked both Tony and Ziva. "You guys are awful!" she hissed softly.

"What did we do, Abbs?" Tony yelped.

She took a deep breath and forced herself not to yell, "the petty bickering and jealousy, made her feel like she'd done something wrong. She's going through a nightmare, and you two are acting like spoiled children!"

Ziva blushed furiously with shame. "Abby, we did not mean to-," she stammered.

"No, but you did start it! She needs to feel safe, and right now she's trapped with a bunch of strangers who aren't being very nice to each other," she replied, turning her sharp green eyes onto Ziva.

McGee looked up from his iPad with guilt heavy in his green eyes. "Abby's right."

Tony snorted, "Of course, Mc-Suck Up!"

Gibbs glared at his senior agent, "Do you want me to lock you in with Nicolai?"

Tony slouched down low in the seat, "Sorry, Boss."

Abby put her hand on Tim's arm and rubbed it softly, "I'm sorry for snapping about Amy and McGregor, Tim."

He smiled softly and put his hand on top of hers, and squeezed it. "It's nothing, Abby. Stop worrying."

Abby gave him a big smile and a light kiss of the cheek. "I'm going to sit with her. Maybe I can convince her that we can be civilized human beings."

Gibbs nodded but before she could stand he grabbed her hand and stared at her hard. "Rule 12, Abbs."

"I'm on vacation, Gibbs. No rules for me." Since Tatyana had heard everything, Abby just sat right down. "We don't have to talk if you don't want too. I just want you to know that the bickering doesn't mean anything."

Tatyana tried to smile, but the strain showed on her face. "I have to admit, I am a little overwhelmed."

Abby nodded in sympathy. "You're stuck with us, with no way out. Don't worry,

we'll all behave better. I promise. Besides, I'm entirely too sensitive over Tim's books."

"I meant it when I said I love them," Tatyana replied.

"I know. I'm so proud of him for writing them. Although it was hard at first, knowing that he used so much of his real life for inspiration."

Tatyana's eyebrows furrowed together in thought, "Is that why you object to Amy and McGregor?"

Abby pale skin flushed bright pink. Normally, she would not discuss their past relationship with a perfect stranger, especially not with Tim three feet away, but something inside needed to get out. "Sometimes no matter how much you care, you have to accept that it can't work."

The sadness in Abby's voice pulled hard at Tatyana's heart. She knew all about 'Rule 12:' from Jenny, and wasn't sure how it was supposed to work. Not acting on feelings, did not stop them from being there. Covert Ops encouraged relationships between co-workers. From her point of view, it was the natural way to deal with these situations. Still, it wasn't up to her to pass judgment on people she didn't know. Despite their somewhat overwhelming personalities, she liked them.

She smiled softly at Abby. "The bad thing about life is that it can't be neatly tied up like in books. However, I think it might have made a nice story if McGregor had been able to choose for himself."

Abby swallowed hard, and suddenly she couldn't think about books anymore. "The sad thing is, he would never think about what's best for him."

Tatyana put her hand on Abby's shoulder, "The best stories are always rooted in what is real. I think that in general, people rarely want what others would say is best for them. Who can truly know that except them?"

Abby stared at the other woman hard, eyes bright with determination. "The people who know and love them best. The people who can see things they can't; the people who would do anything for them."

Tatyana bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the point. "I haven't had that kind of love in my life for a very long time; but I remember it."

The soft confession made Abby hurt a little for Tatyana. She thought that she seemed like a good person, good people deserved to be loved like that. "It hurts sometimes, but I hope you find it again."

"Thank you, Miss Sciuto."

"Please call me Abby."

"Then please call me Tatyana," then she turned to speak over her seat, "That goes for everyone else, if you want to."

Abby smiled more brightly than is usually believed to be humanly possible, "I'm glad we're past last names."

"So am I. Tell me, does Agent DiNozzo always over enunciate names?"

Abby began to giggle and the 'girl talk' began to flow like a river during a flood...

Gibbs relaxed a bit when he saw that Abby had worked her magic, and Tatyana's spirits were climbing again. He was resolutely ignoring McGee, and his death grip on the contraption he was tapping. He'd made Rule: 12 for a reason, and if it hadn't been broken before the young man joined his team, things would be a lot different. Still, he had to admit that he was proud at how they handled the mess. They were doing a lot better than he had ever done with Jenny.

Tony and Ziva, on the other hand, worried him more than usual. The usual sparring increasingly vicious. It didn't make sense; they had been doing better for quite a while. Tony actually handled Ray's proposal like an adult. Now that the relationship had imploded, they were back to square one. He just hoped they both stopped sulking soon.

Tony sat up straighter, his eyes flashing with glee that signaled he was going to try stirring up some mischief. "So Boss, she calls you Jethro?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes; he knew Tony wouldn't be quiet about that for long. "So?"

His smile brightened. "Nothing. It's just weird. I mean, she can't be any higher than a Probie."

Ziva huffed, at his obliviousness. "It is obvious that Tatyana is not an NCIS agent, Tony. How many NCIS agents do you know who would use a hat pin as a weapon?"

"I wasn't talking to you, Zi-va," he snapped. "Still you make a valid point. So who is she, Boss?"

"Right now, she's working with us."

Tony sighed in disappointment, "Well, the Jedi have nothing on you when it comes to being cryptic. I just hope she isn't CIA."

Tim didn't bother to look up from his tapping. "What would you know about Jedi, Tony?"

A smug grin broke out on his face, "Every true film buff knows _Star Wars,_ Mc-Nerdy."

"That means absolutely nothing, Tony," Tim replied, rolling his eyes.

"Can it, Mc-Snob!" He turned back to Gibbs, "Hey Boss, I've never seen that shade of red hair before. It can't be natural."

Ziva chuckled, "Well, that is something I never thought I would hear. You do not know a shade of a woman's hair."

"Have you ever seen hair like that, Da-vid?"

"No, but it is not a dye job."

Tatyana had heard the exchange and smirked, "Thank you, Ziva."

Ziva smiled, "I will join them now. You boys have fun." The sound of Abby clapping made Ziva smile, while her partner's piercing eyes remained on the back of her head until she sat down.

Tony moved to Ziva's seat next to Gibbs, "I've never seen hair like that before."

Gibbs came close to head-slapping the younger man again. He would have to find out what was eating at him, and very soon. "My grandmother had hair like that. Read one of your magazines Tony, or go play with the TV."

Tony could see that Gibbs was fed up, so he took out a magazine, but he couldn't resist muttering, "There's something hinky about that girl."

Gibbs slapped him harder than usual.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I just posted chapter 2 of "The Date" and completely forgot to add the thank you's and dedications! So I'll just do it here because it saves me from having to do it twice! Thank you, Melbelle for making me work hard and turn in good stories. Thank you, Ambrosia for making sure I never forget to enjoy writing. And thank you, to everyone who takes time out of their day to read.**

For the next two hours, the girls chatted about anything and everything, from their favorite weapons, to their favorite teas in the world. The fact that they were so very different made the conversation interesting and lively. Tatyana almost felt better by the time more food arrived. When Louise brought out their trays, she gasped at the plate of ravioli stuffed with sweet potato and ricotta and pecorino cheese, topped with a white truffle brown butter sauce.

Tony cheered, "Whoever you are, Tatyana, if you merit this kind of food, then I like you."

"Hetty is spoiling me. I'm not sure why."

"Who cares?"

"I guess..." she sighed and folded her hands to say a quick silent prayer.

Gibbs took a bite out of his steak, and made a mental note to thank Hetty for remembering his favorite. "She's just happy you're coming."

Tatyana felt tears pricking at her eyes. "Yes, that must be it. She's wanted me to come to the States and stay with her for a while, since I graduated school. I haven't been very good to her I'm afraid."

McGee had gone to sit with the girls shortly after Ziva to avoid Tony's habit of kicking the seat when he was bored, and he wanted to comfort her. "I'm sure that isn't true."

"Thank you, Tim but it is. I've avoided the US most of my life. The CIA always wants to keep me here a little too desperately. I want to be able to go where they need me most. I've neglected Hetty because of it, and she's my only family here."

"Is she your Aunt or something?" Tony asked.

A sweet, soft, smile touched her lips. "Or something."

She offered no more explanation. Tony could see that if he pushed much further he'd be dealing with an irate Gibbs. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor and let the subject drop. The group enjoyed their delicious food, and the bickering between the team, became the edgy light-hearted banter once again.

After supper, Tatyana's energy disappeared completely. Her eyes became so heavy that it hurt to keep them open. Abby noticed immediately. "Gibbs, where are the blankets and the pillows?"

"Hit the call button, Abby."

Louise came back into the cabin. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Sciuto?"

"Yeah, we need some blankets and pillows please."

"Right away."

Tatyana sat up a little straighter to try to remain alert. "I'm sorry; the jet lag must be hitting me early."

Abby shook her head. "You've probably been running on adrenaline since you woke up this morning, so now you're crashing. It's okay, I'm tired too. I haven't slept in three days. We'll just crash together."

"Abbs!" Gibbs barked.

"Your case was not the only case I was putting in overtime on." Then she winked at Tatyana. "He forgets I'm not his personal Forensic Scientist, I'm a one woman show for NCIS headquarters."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Lots of Caf-Pow, and they want me to cut back. I guess I'll detox while I'm on my vacation."

Louise came back with ultra-thick fleece blankets and goose down pillows. "Here you are, have a pleasant nap."

Abby took the bundles. "Thank you. We'll take it from here. This is so much better than commercial First Class. Not that I've ever flown First Class, because it's really expensive, and our salaries are lousy, and my rent just got jacked up again."

Tatyana took her blanket and pillow and her eyes became even heavier. "It's like that in London too. Fortunately, I've got several inheritances."

"Sleep now," Abby mumbled. "When we wake up you can tell me how rich you are. If you're really rich, we have to go shopping."

"Right-Oh."

Ziva took a novel out of her bag and slipped off her shoes. "The last time I was in LA Tony would not let me drive. When we go shopping can I drive?"

"Boss, if we're supposed to protect Miss Romanskia letting Ziva drive in LA is a big no-no." Tony cried.

"Tony please," Abby whined, "we're tired and we want to sleep. Just for once will you shut up?"

Both women fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. McGee waited five minutes for Abby's heavy breathing before adjusting her blankets and taking off her boots. Then he adjusted the seat to a reclining position. He checked Tatyana to see if she looked comfortable. It didn't feel right to attempt to adjust her blankets, but he decided to adjust her seat. She had been through enough without getting a stiff neck.

"Good job, McGee."

"Oh it's nothing, Boss. Abby hates sleeping in those boots, she'll wake up with her legs asleep. Tatyana seems extremely nice."

"She's special." Gibbs replied.

Tony closed his magazine. "She's something."

"You got a problem, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, this is all kinds of weird. The head of OSP asks you, _you_ of all people, to play baby sitter for some mystery woman who has Chechnyan bad guys after her. She's not NCIS but she's working with us for now. She has a British accent, and a Russian name. Her eyes never stop moving, it's creepy. But what's really setting my internal alarms off is that you trust her, and we're all in the dark! And that hair is just strange."

"I'm not in the dark, DiNozzo. Now shut up and go check on Nicolai."

Tony headed for the cargo hold, grumbling. Ziva moved to sit with Gibbs. "It is not Tatyana he is angry about. It is me."

"Fix it."

"Gibbs, I cannot."

"Why?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Because I have done nothing. My car broke down and I had a friend drive me to work. Tony pulled up at the same time, and he has been furious since."

He glared at her. "Was this friend a male friend?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Yes; but what does that have to do with it? He works at the Navy Yard, and his wife and I met at the bookstore. They live two blocks away from me."

"Did you tell Tony that?"

"Why should I explain myself to him? It was a simple ride. Nothing untoward happened. He had no right to make assumptions or to question my behavior!"

Gibbs sighed. Sometimes he wondered if these spats would ever end. "I'll talk to him. You behave!"

"I will, Gibbs."

"McGee, you and Ziva stay here I'm going to go back with Tony."

"Got it, Boss."

Gibbs walked to the back and found Tony checking Nicolai's hands for circulation. "Boss, whatever she gave him works really good, he's still out like a light. Maybe I should ask her for some. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Is that why you're acting like such an ass?"

"No, this is my natural charm..." The look on Gibbs face told him that he was dangerously close to pushing too far. "Sorry, Boss. I'm just sick of the push-me-pull-you dance Ziva's doing. She comes to me when she's hurt and confused; she'll lean on me, and she'll trust me... but then, when everything blows up, she puts up those walls and keeps me out. Either I'm her partner, her best friend, or I'm not! She can't make up her mind."

"She's always been like that."

"Yeah well, I like to think I've proven myself to her. She won't even call me to give her a ride. She gets some stranger!"

"Tony, he was her neighbor. She told me he works at the Navy Yard."

"I've never seen him before."

"It's a big place. Look, we've got a job to do, fix it."

"Yes, Boss."

"Tatyana has been through hell. Start behaving."

Tony nodded his head, and headed toward the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

About two hours from LA, soft moans broke the silence in the cabin. Tatyana twitched violently in her seat, moans became cries, and she screamed. Abby reached over to her but Gibbs stopped her. "Abbs, touch her now and she might hurt you."

"But, Gibbs..."

"Let me handle it," he ordered. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear.

She kept screaming and shouting in Russian, thrashing and kicking. She couldn't hear Gibbs' voice, and he wouldn't touch her. Finally, she screamed so loud that all of them almost covered their ears. Then she was completely still.

"Gibbs, let me check her pulse!" Abby begged. He nodded yes, and Abby gently pressed her fingers to her neck. "It's fast, really fast."

Tatyana's eyes fluttered open. Pools of deep gray and midnight blue protested against the overhead light. She slowly sat up and turned it off. Her throat felt like she had swallowed lit matches and the sands of the Sahara. She looked at the five people around her, each wearing a worried face. Tony looked ashen, and Abby had tears in her eyes. "Was I that loud?"

Tony ran his hands through his hair. "I think you burst my eardrum."

"I'm sorry agent DiNozzo. It's been a very hard day. I'm just going to get cleaned up; maybe I can use the sink in the kitchen."

Gibbs helped her stand up. "The 'head' is free. We moved Nicolai to the cargo hold."

She reached into the overhead compartment for her handbag. "Thank you, Jethro."

"Ziva, go with her."

Ziva put her hand on Tatyana's back, to steady and guide her. When they left, McGee and Abby slapped Tony as hard as they could. "OUCH!" he yelped.

"Tony, if you don't get over whatever is wrong with you, I will kill you and leave no evidence so help me God!" Abby roared.

"I didn't mean it!" He squeaked, razing his hands in surrender.

McGee glared at his friend while rubbing Abby's back to calm her. "Tony, come on, you crossed the line big time. Rules or no, you have to say you're sorry," he growled.

"Tell him, Gibbs!" Abby screeched. She leaned further into Tim's touch, taking deep breaths to calm her temper.

Tony turned to face Gibbs, his wide eyes beseeching the older man for support. "Boss, I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Rules are Rules, your Rules."

Gibbs shook his head and shrugged. "Rule 51: Sometimes you're wrong!" His voice remained cool and calm as always.

Tony's jaw dropped. "Boss, you're telling me to say I'm sorry?" he asked, incredulous at his mentor's unspoken edict.

Gibbs sighed, his mind filled with memories of his past encounters with men like Tatyana had encountered. "DiNozzo, do you know what Chechnyan terrorist do to Russian prisoners, especially their women prisoners?"

Tony's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I imagine it's pretty much the same as what any other terrorist does to their prisoners."

The older man's face softened, he knew Tony would always carry scars from Somalia. "If I was a woman, and I had to choose between the guy we've got hogtied back there and Saleem... I'd choose Saleem."

Hearing the name of the man that had held Ziva captive made his stomach turn. The years had passed, but he still had dreams of her trapped there. Ziva would probably never tell him what they had actually done to her; but he still ached when he saw the shadows in her eyes… "I'll make it right Boss," he whispered.

"You better."

Tatyana splashed ice cold water on her face hoping that she would eventually stop crying. She was furiously cursing herself in every language she spoke; calling herself every kind of fool for thinking, she could handle this. The truth was she couldn't. Now, she couldn't turn back. Another wave of tears hit, and she realized she had accidentally shut the door. Through her panic, she could hear Ziva's voice.

"Tatyana, please let me in. I wish to help you."

She quickly opened the door, and Ziva stepped in. "Please don't close the door, Ziva. You've done more than enough just by being here."

"Being here is my duty. I wish to help you as a friend."

"I'm a stranger to you Ziva, none of you were even supposed to be here."

"Well, I am here now. You do not have to be alone."

Ziva's warm voice touched Tatyana's heart. Of course, she had seen all of the records of Gibbs, and his team. She had done her research before requesting that he be the one who escorted her from London. She trusted Jenny's word, but research was her life. Of course, she knew about Ziva's mission in Somalia. She knew a lot more about it, than what was in the official reports. She had contacts everywhere. She hadn't expected Ziva, the former pride of Mossad and current star of NCIS, to offer to help her. It didn't fit her profile.

"You don't have to bother, Ziva. I'll stop blubbering eventually."

"It is a good thing we are both small enough to fit in here, yes? I know I do not have to do anything other than protect you from harm, but I wish to help. I am very stubborn."

"Yes you are," she sighed, "I made a huge mistake; I'm no agent of any kind. It was hubris to think I could handle this. I might end up getting someone killed. If that happens, I'll definitely lose my sanity."

"I have noticed that you are trained. You took down a Chechnyan soldier by yourself with a hatpin. That does not happen without training."

She shook her head and gripped the sink so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Family and friends taught me their tricks, but I'm not trained the way you were. They never taught me about what comes after they rescue you. I was never trained to handle it."

"My 'training' as you put it when it came to being captured amounted to one thing... Silence," Ziva replied in a soft voice. "Silence with your captors and silence afterwards if you survive. I am not sure that this is handling it; sometimes I wish I could talk about it. Unfortunately, I have buried everything so deep that it is impossible."

Tatyana stared at her pale face and bloodshot eyes in the mirror. "I wish I could do that, but I can't," she replied in a hoarse whisper.

"Why do you say that?"

"Have you ever heard of Hyperthymesia?"

Ziva went pale. "You cannot bury it."

"No."

"I'm sorry, I cannot imagine..." Ziva whispered and trailed off. She couldn't even begin to comprehend not suppressing memories. The very idea terrified her, and she had to change the focus of the subject. "Tony, he is a good man. He says things without thinking, but he did not mean to hurt you. He is angry with me."

Tatyana splashed more water on her face, and when she looked into the mirror, she saw the painful longing in Ziva's eyes. Apparently, Rule 12 had not only been causing Abby and Tim problems, but also destroying Tony and Ziva. It was becoming easier for her to understand why Gibbs had three ex-wives, and why Jenny had ended up putting her career before love. "Don't worry, Ziva. I know Tony isn't deliberately cruel. I understand that he can't apologize because of the 'Rules.' I'm not even angry with him. I know I scream in my sleep."

Abby appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide and sad. "Guys, what's taking so long? We're all worried and Tony is really sorry."

Ziva turned to her, "Everything is alright Abby. We were just talking."

"Can I join in?"

"Do you think we can all fit in here?" Tatyana asked pushing down tremors of panic.

"Sure, there's plenty of room, I once was stuffed in a phone booth with eighteen other people. We tried to beat the world's record but it didn't work."

Ziva, moved to the corner. "I will never understand Americans, even if I am a citizen. Why would people willingly stuff themselves in a phone booth?"

"Hey it's fun!" Abby pouted.

Tatyana stayed in front of the mirror, struggling valiantly to tidy up her masses of hair. She sighed in frustration and set her comb on the sink. "Actually it started in South Africa, and became a fad among college students. I've never understood it either; but then again, I'm claustrophobic."

"Maybe we should not try it." Ziva replied.

"If we keep the door open I should be alright."

Abby made sure to give Tatyana as much breathing room as she could, but she couldn't help but touch her shimmering hair. "It's so long and thick, and it feels like high quality velvet. Have you ever cut it?"

Tatyana smiled. She loved her hair, although most people found the color odd. "I trim just enough to keep the split ends away. I might have to find someone to trust to trim it in Los Angeles. I'm not looking forward to that. My hands won't stop shaking long enough for me to get this comb through it. I should have braided it before we fell asleep."

"Let me!" Abby took the comb eagerly. "I'm very gentle, and great with braids."

While Abby began gently combing through her hair, Tatyana opened her purse to find her face cream. "Hopefully, I'll be able to get my face looking less like a tomato. There's no hope for my eyes, I look like I drank a gallon of good Vodka."

Ziva perked up. "I have eye drops in my purse. I will go get them."

"Thank you, Ziva."

Abby peeked to see what kind of face cream Tatyana used. The label was in Russian so she couldn't read it. "What brand is that?"

Tatyana chuckled, "it's Clinique, actually."

"Really!"

"Yes, it's the only thing I've found to be the least irritating for my skin. I'm very delicate unfortunately."

"Your skin is beautiful."

"Thank you. When I was in school, the girls called me a walking corpse because I'm so pale."

"Please kids are cruel, I love it."

"You're like no Goth I've ever known, Abby."

Ziva frantically searched her purse for her eye drops. "Tony, you have been through my purse again."

Tony schooled his face into his most innocent expression. "What makes you say that, Zi-va?"

Ziva's bit her bottom lip in irritation, but she remembered her promise to Gibbs, not to antagonize her partner. "Three things: One, my candy bar which I put in here before we boarded is gone. Two, you have totally disorganized my bag. Three, McGee does not have a death wish."

"You can say that again." Tim responded from his seat.

Tony's eyes gleamed wickedly. "You forgot Gibbs."

Ziva smiled like a tigress going for her prey. "After four wives Gibbs knows not to touch a woman's purse. However, even if he had done it, he would have left it intact."

The smirk left Tony's face. "Okay you got me. What are you looking for anyway?"

"I am looking for my eye drops so that Tatyana may use them."

"I didn't take those, just the candy."

"Well, I cannot find them!" she snapped.

"They have to be in there."

"They are not."

"Maybe they fell on the floor."

They both got on the floor and began searching, and they reached for the small bottle under the seat at the same time. Their fingers entwined and they both stood up... "We found them." Ziva whispered.

Tony handed them to her. "I'm sorry, Ziva."

"Do not apologize for rummaging through my purse, Tony. It is a sign of weakness."

He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "You know that's not what I meant."

She pulled her hand out of his. "Let us just agree to stop bickering and forget it. Tatyana needs these."

She turned and started walking but Tony's voice stopped her. "You deserve more than just contentment, you know. You deserve to be happy, Ziva David."

Standing there frozen, she was glad that she hadn't turned around. Once again, she found herself reaching into the well of strength that gave her the ability to withstand any pain. She pulled her shoulders back and started walking, because once again she didn't have any other choice.

Gibbs came back from wherever he had vanished too, and sat down. "You fix things with Ziva?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Good."

Ziva handed the drops to Abby but did not enter the bathroom again. Abby had just finished putting the finishing touches on Tatyana's hair. She had parted the hair on both sides, braided each side and entwined them at the base of her head in a bun. "That is amazing!"

Abby smirked, "Thanks, it helps to have great hair to work with. It's so thick and heavy it holds its own. I only needed four pins. I'm so jealous."

Abby moved out of the bathroom so Tatyana could put in the eye drops. Both women were impressed that she managed to tilt her head back so far and not teeter on the thin heels of her shoes. "Thank you, Ziva. My eyes are clearing up already."

"I am glad to help."

Tatyana pulled some sheer pale ivory pressed powder, a light taupe eye shadow, some dark brown mascara, and a tube of lipstick almost the exact shade of her natural lips out of her purse. Due to years of practice, it took her less than three minutes to put on a light dusting of makeup. It didn't transform her face, but she again looked like a cool, elegant, and sophisticated woman of privilege.

"Well, I don't look like a bloody mess anymore. Hopefully, within the next ninety minutes I'll regain some semblance of level-headedness."

Abby giggled, "Hey you're a poet, and you didn't know it."

_"You will do fine, Tatyana."_ Ziva replied in Hebrew.

"I don't know how long you can stay in Los Angeles, but I hope the three of us have time to do something pleasant. I want to thank you both for your kindness."

Abby threw her arms around Tatyana in a bone-crushing hug. "I'll make sure Gibbs gives us time." Her worry had died down and her natural cheerfulness infused her voice. "I'm his favorite," she added with all of the smugness of an adored child.

Ziva smiled brightly but couldn't help rolling her eyes. "That's very true. Gibbs will also become impatient if we do not go back now." She winked at Tatyana who gave a small smile in return.

The three women walked back to their seats, and Tatyana made sure she had some space from the group. "I hate flying; it's a good thing we're nearly there. I'm feeling a tad balmy."

Tony stood up and kneeled by her seat. Then he cleared his throat nervously, took a deep breath, and started to speak. "Look, Tatyana about what I said before- I have a tendency to say the first thing that pops into my head..."

She put her hand on his shoulder and softly cut him off. "Agent DiNozzo, I understand. Please don't concern yourself with it. We both have had a horrid day, and neither of us is at our best. Let's just forget it, and start fresh tomorrow."

Tony nearly went limp with relief. She seemed to believe he wasn't an insensitive ass. Somehow he'd managed to save face and follow all of the Rules. "That sounds great to me, but please call me Tony."

Tatyana smiled a little more brightly. Tony DiNozzo was definitely not her type of man. Still, she had to admit that when he behaved like an adult, he had charm. She offered her hand and he took it. "It's a deal, Tony."

Tony sat back down, Abby gave him a big smile and thumbs up, Ziva gave him the look that meant he had done well, and McGee gave him a pat on the shoulder. They all knew he had a hard time with being in the wrong just like their leader. He looked at Gibbs who nodded and went to join his protectee.

"You look better."

"Abby did my braids."

"I liked it better loose."

Tatyana patted his shoulder. "I promise that when you grow your hair out, you can wear it however you want to, Jethro."

He gave her a lopsided smile, and chuckled softly. "That's funny."

"Please tell me we're getting off this plane soon," she whispered desperately.

Gibbs took her hand in his. "Soon."

"I really am claustrophobic. I didn't ask to switch seats solely because I was uncomfortable."

"It's okay."

She squeezed his hand harder. "I wasn't always such a wreck, Jethro."

"You're no wreck. Just remember something happy."

"You remind me of my Papa, Jethro. You should smile more often."

Gibbs didn't reply he just started rubbing his thumb over her hand. They would be landing soon enough. Who knew what would be waiting for them. His gut told him that it was probably nothing good.

The plane started its decent, and team Gibbs' agents began preparing for action. They checked their weapons and made sure they were ready, all frivolous thoughts cleared from their minds. Each stood ready, awaiting their orders.

The moment the plane touched down Gibbs turned to his team. "Tony, Hetty and a team will be waiting for us; you're going to help them with the prisoner. Abby, you get out first and head straight for the car. No stopping, no talking, no hugging. You'll get your chance later. Ziva, you and McGee will cover Tatyana and me. We get out last. Got it?"

"Got it, Boss," the agents chorused.

"Abbs?" Gibbs said sternly.

"No stopping, no talking, no hugging. Aye sir."

The corners of his mouth turned up and his face softened. "Good girl, Abbs."

Tatyana tapped him on the shoulder. "No orders for me, Jethro?"

"You keep calm and stay by my side."

"Understood."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Namaste lovely people! I hope you're all well, I'm shocked that I'm able to update so quickly this time so I hope you enjoy. I haven't written many author's notes because I try to let the stories speak for itself but two updates in one month is something to Celebrate, right? So it's only appropriate that I give hearty public praise and thanks to my wonderful beta reader Melbelle! Without this talented, patient, and lovely lady, I'd be lost. She generously allows me to wobble through my grammar and punctuation, weaknesses without reproach. She teaches me, and encourages me every time we tackle a project and I never want to do this alone ever again. So thank you Melbelle!**

**PS. I know a lot of my fellow die-hard Callen fanatics have been patiently waiting! I wanted to give him a HUGE entrance so he's coming in chapter 7. Please don't be too angry, after that he's in every chapter I PROMISE! **

"Agent Gibbs?" A male voice called into the cabin.

"Yeah."

A man around thirty-six years old glided into the cabin. His broad shoulders and thick biceps drew attention away from his short stature. His eyes were such a pale shade of blue they almost appeared clear. His whitish-blond hair stuck up in every direction from cowlicks that would never be tamed. A roguish grin accompanied by slightly crooked teeth called to mind a Cheshire cat. "My name is Special Agent Derek Carter. Hetty sent me to escort you and your team back to the Mission. She also said that I should tell you, _'Jenny said not to forget your coat on the plane.'_ I hear you have some trash for us, we've come to collect."

Gibbs shook his head and chuckled; after all the years he had known Hetty, she still managed to surprise him with the ways she chose to send her messages. "Come on back. DiNozzo, take them back to the cargo hold and collect the trash."

Tony strutted toward the back of the plane, waving their new companions on. "Come this way gentlemen," he called in a sing-song tone.

"Abbs, go on now," Gibbs, whispered, brushing his lips against her temple.

Abby slowly walked out, her darting eyes betraying her nerves. When she got off the plane, an agent guided her to the car. When she got in, she squealed happily when she saw Hetty waiting. "It's so good to see you, Abby. You look wonderful, like usual," the older woman greeted with a rare wide smile.

Memories of LA stirred in Abby's mind, combining with the current situation to make her tense and her posture stiff. "Gibbs told me not to talk," she whispered.

"I think he meant before you got into the car my dear." Hetty replied, gently patting her hand.

Abby perked up immediately, "So may I give you a hug now?"

"I was hoping for one."

She quickly obliged. "Did you get my e-mail?"

Hetty chuckled, "Abby, the whole team got your e-mail this morning. Eric is so excited he can hardly sit still, and he does indeed want to take you and Nell to Disneyland."

Since bouncing in a car proved problematic, Abby satisfied her enthusiasm by clapping her hands. "I can't wait to meet Nell. Eric goes on and on about her, she must be special."

Hetty puffed, up as she always did when praising her people. "Miss Jones is an extraordinary young lady. I believe the two of you will get on very well."

"If she's half as nice as Tatyana, it will be great."

"So you approve of my Tanechka?"

"Oh yes, she's awesome Hetty."

"I think so too."

Suddenly, the sound of gunshots filled the air. Hetty immediately took out her gun and pushed Abby down. "Don't move Abby."

Gibbs came running with Tatyana, Hetty quickly opened the door, and the moment they were inside, the car took off. He was breathing hard, but he turned to the young woman to check her over. "You good?"

Tatyana struggled to sit properly in her seat. "Yes. I don't understand it, how are they tracking me?" Her hands shook so badly that she couldn't fasten her seatbelt. Of all the things she'd tried to prepare for, she'd never thought they could track her. They never had in the four years she'd been hunting them. _'WHY!'_ her mind shouted.

"We will find that out soon, Tanechka. If anyone can figure this out, it's Eric and Nell. We also have Timothy and Abby with us."

"Oh, Hetty!" she threw herself into her mentor's arms, straining to control the urge to break down again.

From the floor of the car, Abby glanced up. "Is it safe to come up yet?"

"Yeah Abbs." Gibbs said, pulling her up.

Abby hugged him tightly. "McGee, Tony, Ziva... we left without them!"

"They're fine Abbs," Gibbs soothed. He murmured softly in her ear. "The bad guys are dead. They're just helping with the mess, we'll meet them soon."

Hetty and Tatyana softly spoke in French. Hetty gently helped Tatyana buckle in and held her hand tightly. Once she could breathe normally again, Tatyana switched back to English. "Did we have to have blackout windows, Hetty? This is worse than being on the plane."

Hetty reached up to turn on the inside light. "Unfortunately, it's standard procedure, Tanechka. Only a little longer, then we'll be in rooms drenched with sunlight."

"Tea?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course, in a glass."

Tatyana sighed and shifted herself to lean on Hetty's shoulder. The sight was comical due to their height differences, but it worked. The younger woman closed her eyes, and appeared to wilt. "What happened Leroy?" Hetty demanded.

Gibbs sat back, wrapped his arms around Abby's waist, and held her close. "The sniper got Nicolai. One of your people took out the sniper." He sighed, and closed his eyes. "Whoever the shooter was he made a nearly impossible shot. Tony and McGee were carrying Nicolai by the shoulders while your men had his feet. The shot put the bullet right between the eyes, it blew half his head off."

"Gibbs!" Abby shrieked.

"Abby they are fine!" Gibbs snapped; in his most sever 'boss' tone. Abby immediately calmed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"It's a shame we've lost two sources of Intel; although I can't be completely disappointed that they're dead on a personal level," Hetty sighed.

Gibbs fastened his seatbelt. "The sniper was a backup plan. If Nicolai failed in-flight, he was supposed finish up and kill the failure."

Hetty clenched Tatyana's hand in her own smaller ones. A grave expression set her mouth in a line. "What concerns me, Leroy is that none of my teams found his nest when we swept the area."

"He could have set it up right before we landed. That's what I would've done."

"I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you another favor."

"Help investigate the sniper."

"Yes. There is nobody more qualified than you."

"Done."

Hetty turned her attention to Tatyana, humming a French lullaby that Gibbs remembered had been a favorite tune of Jenny's. He felt Abby tense up beside him and realized she was still terrified. He kissed the top of her head. "Gibbs..." She whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest.

"Yeah, Abbs."

"I really, really, hate LA. Nothing good ever happens here."

He squeezed her tighter, and murmured, "I know, me too."

The drive took twenty minutes, and every second Tatyana fought hard to not try jumping out of the car. She hated feeling so trapped and it was getting worse with each breath she took. She forced herself to focus on Hetty's voice, humming her favorite childhood song. She held on to the smell of sawdust and coffee that characterized her temporary protector, and refused to let the tears scalding tears assaulting her eyelids out.

Finally, just when she thought that she couldn't bear to be in the confined space another second, the car stopped. Hetty shook her a little, "We're here, Tanechka, and you can get out now."

She sprung out of the car like a frightened animal and the feeling of being in the open air made her want to sink to her knees in bliss. Gibbs appeared beside her and took her by the arm. "Come on inside, we don't know if there are more. Don't worry lots of windows and skylights with bullet proof glass."

She bit her lower lip and came perilously close to trying to shove him off. Thankfully, the part of her still making rational choices hadn't given up control. She managed to get inside and was gratified when Gibbs relaxed completely. Abby frantically looked around for her friends, and when she didn't see them she went pale. "Where are they Gibbs?"

"Calm down Abby, I told you they're helping."

"But Gibbs..."

The ring tone of his usual cell phone cut off her rant. He had turned the phone back on when the plane landed. "Gibbs."

"Boss, its McGee we figured out how they were tracking Tatyana."

"How!" he barked.

"Somebody tagged her luggage. They weren't very subtle or sophisticated about it either. They must have done it after she packed, because there are three trunks. She had to have some help transporting it all."

"McGee, can we get anything useful from the tags?"

"Like finding out where they're transmitting too? Maybe. The problem is if we disable them, we've lost our chance. If we bring them to OSP, we've got a major security threat, and Tatyana is once again in the line of fire."

"Can you download the information in them with that pad thing?"

"Sorry, Boss definitely not. Whoever programmed this thing wasn't quite that stupid. They might not have cared if we found the devices, but I can't hook them up to a computer without shutting them down first. If I did that all we'd know is where they've been. We already know that."

"Keep the luggage there at the airport; tell security to lock it somewhere safe. Tell Carter to put a man on it, and get back here with Tony and Ziva."

"Got it, Boss."

Gibbs hung up his phone and turned to Abby. "Go and find G. or something. Get your hugs."

"Where will you be?"

"With Hetty and Tatyana."

Abby nodded and Gibbs headed for Hetty's office. He saw Hetty brewing a pot of tea in the Russian style, with Tatyana soaking up the late afternoon sunlight sitting by the window. Hetty looked up and motioned for him to sit down. "What have they found out, Leroy?"

"They tagged the luggage. McGee says they didn't care if we found it," Gibbs sighed and stat back in the chair. "Probably because they thought Nicolai would do his job. He's not sure if we can use the tags to trace them. I told them to keep everything at the airport under guard for now."

Tatyana turned away from the window to face him. "How could they tag my trunks?" she asked, a faint quiver tinged her voice. "Nicolai was never near them until you stuffed him in the cargo hold. Moreover, it doesn't explain how they knew I was coming to the states at all. I never told anyone. The British think I'm on holiday in New Zealand, and the Russians think I'm on holiday in Denmark."

Gibbs reached for the cup of strong black tea that Hetty poured for him. "You said there's a Chechnyan mole in the SVR. Maybe they know you, and bugged your house."

Tatyana shot up from her seat and began pacing. "Jethro, not even my dearest friends know where I live, only my family, and Hetty," she whispered, trying to suppress the urge to scream in sheer frustration.

"What about your Grandfather? Could he have told a friend where you live, or that you were coming here, thinking that they'd watch over you?" he asked calmly.

"He died six months ago!" she snapped. She stared at him anger, fear, and pain crackling in her eyes like a raging storm. "Before you ask," she continued in a sharp tone, "yes, he knew what happened. He called in every favor with every contact he had in the world to get me out of there. There is no way he or any of the people he knew would help Brazanlov."

As she past his chair he reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. "I had to ask," he spoke tenderly, his warm, strong, work-worn fingers imparting comfort and strength into her skin.

"I know," she answered, her voice cracked as she sank back into her chair. A lone tear fell down her cheek.

Hetty poured a cup of tea in a glass and handed it to Tatyana, "You can work with Mr. Beale and Miss Jones to run a facial recognition scan on the people who helped move your trunks."

"I can draw them right now!" She leaned forward to stand up, but Hetty's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Finish your tea my dear. You are safe and they can't track you. We have an extensive wardrobe for you to use, until our technical geniuses figure out how to handle the tracking devices in the best way. For now, we can afford to move one step at a time."

Abby went straight upstairs to Eric and Nell's domain when she found that Callen and Sam were out on a case. She saw her blond, surfer-dude, geek friend- chatting animatedly to a pretty girl with dark auburn hair. She reminded Abby of Tinkerbelle, and she smiled because Eric had always reminded her of Peter Pan. "Does anybody have any Caf-Pow here?" she called out in her bright joyful voice,

"Abby!" Eric shouted, rushing to hug her. "We saw what happened at the airport, and we were so worried. Is everyone okay?"

Abby hugged him tight. "We're all fine, the entire team is here. They're helping an Agent Carter and his team right now. They'll be here soon I hope."

Nell watched the exuberant and lovely Goth hugging Eric, and she felt a pressure building in her chest. Abby Sciuto was far more beautiful than she appeared to be on the big screen. Not even the high-definition cameras and the top-of-the-line digital video processors could display her radiance. Nell's heart grew heavier, watching the open and unabashed affection written all over Eric's face. Unlike the moments of affection they occasionally shared, awkward Eric disappeared around Abby. She couldn't help but worry that Abby had a stronger connection to Eric, and if Abby did then the dance of words and feelings they shared could mean nothing. Part of her couldn't help feeling disgusted by her reaction. She was, and always had been, a confident person. She knew she was smart, and she knew she was reasonably attractive. Yes, she had gotten her heart bruised before, but she had always told herself that if she did the best she could with a relationship and things didn't work out, then a man could take her or leave her at his pleasure. She couldn't give any more than her best. Of course, her best had yet to be good enough, so she stopped having R-words all together. It was easier that way.

Eric waved his hand in front of her face. "Nell, you spaced out there. Everything is going to be okay, Hetty's in her office."

She shook her head bringing herself back into the moment. "Sorry." She stuck out her hand to their visitor. "I'm so glad to meet you officially, Abby."

Abby wrapped her arms around the smaller woman in a bone-crunching hug. "I have wanted to meet you for, forever. Ask Eric how much I've nagged him to treat you to a vacation in DC."

Eric blushed. "She's quite a nag Nell."

Nell came from a very tactile family that lived by the power of the hug. It was instinct that made her return it to Abby. "That's very kind of you."

"Any friend of Eric's is family," Abby said firmly and released her.

Before Nell could answer, they heard Carter yelling. "You know, DiNozzo just because you're a big shot in DC, doesn't give you the right to ream out my team!"

Tony had stepped deep into the other man's personal space and snarled. "If your team was in any way competent, then Nicolai would still be alive. You do understand that we needed him for information. You guys can't be that bad at your jobs."

"Why you..." Carter lunged, and his team scrambled to hold him back.

"HEY! DiNozzo, STAND DOWN!" Gibbs shouted.

"What is going on here?" Hetty demanded.

"Gibbs, put your dog on a leash." Carter spat.

Hetty marched straight up to her livid agent simmering with anger. "Agent Carter, you will cease this antagonistic behavior. Agent Gibbs and his team are here to assist us as a personal favor to me. You will treat them, with every possible professional and personal courtesy. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Hetty," Derek replied, lowering his head like a chastised school boy.

Hetty nodded as Carter and his team went to their spaces. Then she turned a ruthless gaze on the visiting senior agent from MCART. "Agent DiNozzo, I understand you've had a rough day; however, you can express your concerns in a more professional manner. I assure you that agents under my direction are eminently qualified to do their job. If they weren't, they wouldn't be working here."

"Ms. Lange..." Tony tried to interrupt before being cut off.

"It's Miss Lange, Agent DiNozzo," she hissed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lange," Tony tried again with a calmer, more charming tone. "If Agent Carter's team had transported the unconscious prisoner properly, and taken the appropriate precautions to provide protective cover the outcome would have been very different. We wouldn't have lost a chance to get valuable Intel, and I wouldn't be covered in blood, and brain matter."

"We got the sniper!" Carter snarled from his desk in a rage. "A sniper I might add, that we had no reason to believe was there."

A bitterly sarcastic grin bloomed on his face as a harsh laugh burst from his throat. "I thought you OSP people had to think on your feet. Part of being undercover, is being prepared for things you have no reason to expect."

Gibbs moved towards Tony, but Hetty stopped him with her hand. "Casting blame and brawling in my building won't solve anything. The fact is, both of you are correct, and both of you are wrong. Stop this foolishness at once. Agent DiNozzo, you can clean up and change. Then I wish for both teams to make their reports. Come with me."

Tony turned to Gibbs for confirmation. "Boss?"

"Go, Tony."

Tony sighed and followed the strange little woman. "We haven't actually been properly introduced and..."

Hetty didn't even break her step, "I know who you are, Mr. DiNozzo. But if it truly concerns you, we can have a proper introduction when you are clean and suitably attired." They came to a stop at a pair of doors. "Through here is the gym, the showers are in the back. There will be an acceptable set of clothing waiting for you when you finish."

"Thanks."

"Take your time, Mr. DiNozzo."

"Call me Tony," he replied but Hetty had already vanished. "She is even creepier than the rumor mill said. Great now I'm talking to myself," he groaned.

"Timmy!" Abby shouted as she raced down the stairs.

"Abby, be careful!"

She slammed into him full force and hugged him tighter than she had ever hugged Bert. "Don't you tell me to be careful! I hate this city. First, ex-KGB agents killing Director Shepard. Then I get kidnapped by a serial killer. Now, we get shot at by a sniper- I cannot calm down."

McGee rubbed Abby's back in slow, soothing circles. "Abby, everything is fine. We're here to protect Tatyana; we can't let them get to her."

"Maybe I didn't think through a vacation in LA. This city is cursed for us," she whispered into his neck.

"I'm glad you're here, Abby," he whispered in her ear.

Abby finally stepped back, "Ziva, are you okay?" she asked wrapping her arms around her.

"Everything is fine, Abby," Ziva soothed her while looking around the room. "Where is Tony?"

"Hetty made him get cleaned up. I hope she lets me analyze the evidence, although they don't have a lab here."

"I assure you, Miss Sciuto we will need your expertise." Hetty waited for Abby to release the other woman, before approaching her. "Miss David, it is a very great pleasure to see you again."

"Shalom, Hetty it has been far too long since we last had tea together," Ziva greeted, gently shaking her hand and giving the older woman a kiss on the cheek.

"We'll make time before you leave. After Agent DiNozzo changes we'll meet upstairs and have a full briefing."

"I look forward to it."

"Now, I must go back to my office. Leroy, let your people socialize until Mr. Callen and his team return, I have a feeling it won't be long now."

"Hetty, do you have any decent coffee around here?" Gibbs sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. The jetlag, something he usually managed to avoid by sleeping on long flights, had started.

Hetty smiled sympathetically, taking him by the arm. "Come with me."

"Go on, socialize," he told his team.

Abby started bouncing. "McGee, come on and see Eric and meet Nell." She leaned to whisper to him, "I know you prefer petite geeky girls, and reddish hair is a bonus, but don't flirt with Nell. It would break Eric's heart, and long distance dating never works."

"Abby!" Tim cried out, feeling his ears turn bright red.

"Come on, Ziva we're all going to socialize!" Abby called, grabbing the other woman by the arm and dragging her up the steps.

Once back in what Abby had affectionately christened _'Eric's Bat cave,'_ the four reigning tech experts of NCIS, and the former Mossad Officer, were introduced. They quickly started telling stories about their various teammates' computer disasters. Nell nearly hyperventilated with laughter as McGee recounted his boss shooting a super computer. She gasped for breath, vaguely aware of someone's hand rubbing circles on her back.

"Easy there, Nell can't have you passing out. I need my partner in crime." Eric chided as his hand gently slid up and down her back.

"I'm okay," she gasped. "I'm okay now. Let me just get some water."

"I'll go with you, air travel dehydrates me." Abby said.

The two women left and Ziva decided she should use the ladies room, leaving the two young men alone. McGee sat back and looked at all of Eric's equipment longing, written all over his face. "I'll never get over this place Eric."

The NCIS grapevine still buzzed with the news that Tim had turned down the promotion in Okinawa, but Eric understood his choice all too well. He sometimes envied Tim's ability to be a world-class tech expert and a top field agent; he had the best of both worlds. As immature as it was, the fact that it made his friend envious made him a little gleeful, and the envy dimmed. Eric smiled, he was proud of his domain. "I have to admit, it is a dream come true."

"Nell seems to be a great fit here. You're lucky to have her."

A flush crept under Eric's skin. "She's terrific; I almost can't remember what life was like without her. She's the only person I know that's smarter than Abby. It's nice to have someone around that just automatically 'gets it', she just makes everything so much better."

McGee nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean. She's awfully cute."

Eric stared hard at his friend; he knew Tim had terrible luck with women. Ever since Abby had ended their brief romance, it seemed that he kept picking the wrong women. As far as he knew, the last woman he'd had a romantic connection with was a diplomat's daughter, and she had orchestrated her own kidnapping. Tim deserved a good woman, but he knew that Abby still had feelings for him, and he would bet his entire paycheck that the reigning Elf Lord was still in love with Abby. Eric didn't know where the ambiguous and electric connection he shared with Nell was going, especially after Nate's last visit, and the increasingly odd and intimate moments they shared. Things were in a state of flux with no set path. What he did know, was that there wasn't a man alive that deserved Nell. He was willing to admit that Tim was the kind of man that came close; but the fact of the matter was that Nell deserved more than to be a good man's, _'second best'_.

"Nell is beautiful; she deserves the best of everything," he sighed, a hint of warning spawned by male instinct crept into his tone without his consent.

Tim sat there surrounded by technology's greatest treasures, but they had lost his interest. He kept his eyes on his friend's face. He knew that expression, the look of adoration that caused a man to want nothing more than a special woman's happiness. He had the same look whenever he put a smile on Abby's face. The feeling that made one smile from her, mean everything, the same feeling that let him see her day after day, despite their breakup. He hoped Eric and Nell would have more success if they ever got together.

"Eric, have you told her how you feel?" he asked softly.

Eric had the indignant response ready on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to say it, but something completely different came out. "No, I'm still getting used to it myself. I don't want to risk ruining what we have. Things are in an in-between place right now- she still won't even call me her partner, but we're spending a lot of time together outside of work, and we've had a lot of weird moments. She even kissed me! I wore tights for her last Christmas! But whenever I try to hint at becoming more, she shuts me out and pretends not to understand."

Tim frowned. Nell obviously had commitment issues. Abby had broken his heart over those same issues, and he didn't want Eric to experience that pain. "I get it. Look, can I give you a piece of advice?"

Once he shook off the shock of what he'd said, Eric turned so that his chair faced straight across his friend and kindred spirit in love. "Sure, I mean you've got experience with this."

Tim winced. It wasn't a secret things with Abby didn't work out. Being on Gibbs' team gave him infamy in the NCIS family, and held in equal envy and contempt depending on which side of the inter-office political fence a person was on. Still, he didn't like being a water-cooler topic. "You make sure whatever happens, her welfare is your number one priority. You put her first, and she'll more than likely put your welfare first. Your friendship has a better chance of surviving come what may."

"Well, I hope to keep doing that."

"Eric, if things don't go the way you hope..." Tim began softly and paused. He shook his head and continued in his normal tone, "It will be the most painful thing that has ever happened to you. Make sure you can handle that before you do anything."

"Yeah," Eric swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "Still, it's got to be better than being stuck in the equivalent of romantic purgatory, right?" he asked, clinging to hope of an affirmative answer.

After getting their water, Abby and Nell went to the ladies room to freshen up. Ziva had gone in search of Tony. While straightening their hair and fixing their makeup, Abby kept up the chit-chat. "It is so great to finally get to know you Nell. You're everything I thought you were and more."

"Same here," Nell replied, slowly being drawn into the mystical charm that Abby weaved with nearly everyone. "I've seen Agent McGee on the big screen when we link up with MTAC before; but he's much better looking in person."

Abby's voice turned sharper before she could stop herself. "McGee has always been handsome, now he's handsome and ripped. He doesn't like to show off though."

Nell smiled softly, relieved that Abby seemed to have an attachment to MCART's young legend. "Sounds like he and Eric have a lot in common. Nobody really thinks of Eric as a hottie, but the man has a world-class surfing body. He might not be as bulky as Sam, but he's got power."

A wistful look washed over Abby's face. "I know. Sometimes I wish McGee would let himself shine more. But then I panic because if he starts, he'll be put in more dangerous situations, and date more girls who will never ever deserve him."

Nell stared at herself in the mirror, brushing non-existent wrinkles on her top. "I think I'd go nuts if Eric was out there all the time. He's my very best friend. If anything ever happened to him-" her color drained as she remembered how he was nearly _'frelted'_. "I'm a total hypocrite! I love being out there when I get the chance. I'm in training for God's sake! I get offers from every agency in the alphabet soup! If he wanted it, I should be able to support him like he supports me and I don't even know if I want to be an agent. But I know that if he ever wanted to go out there I couldn't be happy for him. What kind of friend does that make me?"

Abby wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "The good ones get under your skin, and it gets so bad that the thought of waking up in a world without them in it makes you want to stop breathing."

"Yeah," she sighed.

Abby winked. "For what it's worth, I think Eric may feel the same way."

Nell's eyes widened in panic, and her face went as white as a sheet. "I don't think I'm ready for that; I'm still getting used to the fact that I don't think of him as a brother. I've never had a good r-r-r-relationship in my life. I don't want to lose everything we have right now, we're spending a lot of time together now and its good."

Abby's breath caught in her chest, looking at Nell was eerily like looking at herself years ago. "Word of the wise, always do what's best for him," she said in a grave voice. "If you know you're not enough for him, or that you can't make a commitment, don't start anything. I figured it out too late."

The unbearable feeling of vulnerability glued Nell's eyes to the floor. "Do you think it could work? We work together, and nothing can interfere with the dynamic of this team. If Eric or I miss something while they're out under cover-" she shuddered and took a deep breath. "I don't even want to think about what Hetty would do to us if things went bad. I can't lose him as my best friend."

Abby put her hands on Nell's shoulders, and made sure she was looking her in the eyes. "Listen, I screwed up and it's too late for me; but you're not me. I do know that it is possible to keep him in your life even if the romance thing doesn't work."

"How?" She asked in a shaky voice.

"Be his friend first, last, and always; and always love him more than you love yourself."


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Finale Day! Ladies and Gents let's hope The Power's That Be are kinder than last year. Just a quick alert, if you see something **_'written like__this_' **it's something directly quoted from the shows and I didn't make it up. I'm paranoid so I just want to make that clear. And now for all the people who kindly begged for our blue-eyed favorite ghost, here he is!**

G. Callen had never had a true home in his life, but he had lived in LA for quite a long while now. He even had a house. He readily admitted it was much better than some of the places he had been in, yet sometimes he wished to be anywhere else. Those times usually came when he was stuck in the frequent, horrendous traffic jams. "You just had to take the freeway, didn't you Sam?" he growled to his partner and best friend.

Sam slammed on his horn when a mother in a mini-van cut him off. "Not now, G. I have to concentrate. These idiots are dangerous."

"So was the sniper at LAX and we weren't there!" he snapped.

Sam smoothly guided his beloved _Challenger _through the maze of cars crawling along the road. "Eric said everyone got out unscathed. The bad guys are dead and Hetty is fine. Besides Gibbs, and his team were there. If Hetty couldn't have us with her, they're the only acceptable alternative."

G. grunted in disapproval. "That's another thing, why is Gibbs here? He wouldn't have brought his team if this were a visit. The only time he ever came to LA to visit me was when he retired and went to Mexico. He hasn't been here since before Mike Franks died."

"All Eric said was that Hetty was going to pick someone up at the airport. Maybe it was Gibbs and the team; maybe they need our help on a case."

"He would have called me, and we would have heard from Vance or Granger. No, something's up. I'll bet you all the money in my pockets that Hetty has a secret that will explode in our lives."

Sam nodded. He trusted G.'s gut instincts completely. "Well, whatever it is, we can handle it. We always do, and no offense to Gibbs and his team, but we're in a class by ourselves with our tiny, very scary leader."

"Don't underestimate Gibbs, Sam. Regardless of Hetty's reason for bringing him in, Gibbs is more than capable. If you're smart, you'll be like me and have a healthy fear of the man, just like you have a healthy fear of Hetty."

Sam smirked, "What's to stop me from telling everyone you're scared of Gibbs?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Are you kidding? This is great blackmail material."

G. forgot his anger at the traffic, his worry for Hetty, and his anticipation for the new mystery that was about to take over his life, and he burst out laughing. "Don't be so sure. By the time Gibbs and his team leave here, anybody who doesn't know him will have a healthy fear of him. Even you, Sam."

"Humph! We'll see about that, Callen."

By the time he'd parked the black _Challenger_ in its reserved spot, Sam Hanna had had enough and was two seconds away from going to Hetty and demanding a new partner if she insisted on getting shot at without their team present. G. had passed the point of all reason. "Yo G. slow down! Hetty's not gonna appreciate you charging in like a raging bull in a China shop."

Callen didn't slow down. "Find out what's keeping Deeks and Kensi," he snapped.

Sam sighed and got out his phone. "Kensi, where are you guys?"

"Ten minutes out. Has Callen calmed down yet?"

"No, he's on his way to Hetty now."

"Deeks says he's putting ten bucks on Callen."

"Tell Deeks, no takers. I'm calling this a draw."

"Coward!" she giggled.

"Kens, just get here."

"In a flash."

G. Callen entered _'The Mission'_ and came face to face with Gibbs. "I'd say it's great to see you, Gunny, but you show up and bullets seem to follow you. Is Hetty okay?"

"She's fine."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, we'll catch up later."

Just outside Hetty's office, Callen took a deep breath and used his considerable talents to project a calm, almost carefree demeanor. Sam was right; Hetty would shoot him down like a clay pidgin if he stormed in ranting. He pasted on his brightest smile, relaxed his posture, and walked in.

Hetty stood up as soon as she heard his footsteps. "Ah Mr. Callen, I hope your case was resolved in a satisfactory manner."

"They tried to run like usual, but we got them and five hundred-thousand dollars' worth of cocaine. Captain Walter Thornsby will be in _Leavenworth_ for a very long time."

"Excellent. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

G. had smelled the Russian blend the moment he had entered the office. Memories of long winters, when the only warmth he had was a glass of strong black tea, washed over him. Hetty rarely changed her tea routine. She preferred the traditional British tea service. This change confirmed his suspicions, and all of his instincts told him that his life would soon become even more complicated.

He lounged in his usual seat and kept on smiling. "Well, I think I will. It does get stressful chasing down those morons who think that running is a wonderful idea. Though, a little bird told me that your day was far more intense than mine."

Hetty took a dainty sip of her tea. "It has been more eventful than some."

The smile dropped off his face. "Hetty, what is going on? Why didn't you tell us you were getting a visitor? Why are Gibbs and his team here? Why are people shooting you?"

"Would you like me to answer those questions in order, Mr. Callen?"

He practically jumped out of his seat, and leaned over her desk. He took a very deep breath, and kept his voice as neutral as possible. "Hetty, don't do this. I know you've got your secrets, and God only knows what you're into now. I can't handle another Romania, Hunter, or Granger right now. You have to tell me what is going on so we can keep you safe."

"Mr. Callen, I am not the person in danger."

He put more of his weight on his hands and brought his face mere inches from hers. "If you aren't the target, then tell me who is."

Then, a soft voice that he had never heard before filled his ears. "Hetty, it's not right to be so cryptic. It's cruel to draw this out."

Hetty smiled and stood up from her chair. "I was waiting for you to come back, _Tanechka_. After all, it's only right that you explain the situation to Mr. Callen, but first, I think a proper introduction is an order."

G. straightened up and turned around to face this new stranger; he wasn't much of a praying man, but if there was a higher power he'd entreat it to make sure that this woman was not another Hunter. He couldn't take the fallout and heartache again. "I think you're right, Hetty. Would you please introduce us?"

Hetty smiled, "Miss Tatyana Levovna Romanskia, may I introduce Mr. G. Callen. Mr. Callen, this is Miss Romanskia."

He offered his hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Miss Romanskia."

Tatyana shook his hand with a firm yet gentle grip. "It is an honor, Mr. Callen. I'm very sorry that you've had to worry about Hetty, but I can assure you she is not the target," she took a deep breath and continued in a whisper. "I am."

Everyone that had heard of G. Callen knew he was a _'lone wolf'_ with a capital L-W, and his infamous reputation for an inability to form romantic relationships fueled a lot of gossip as well. However, he reacted to beautiful women the same way every other man did. His mouth went dry, and his heart rate sped up. He felt the instinctive urges, accepted them, and promptly ignored them.

However, the young woman's genuine vulnerability and courage made him less aggressive. "I see. If you don't mind my asking, would you mind explaining what exactly is going on? I don't like to see anyone shot at by the bad guys."

Hetty breathed an internal sigh of relief. Callen had taken her secrecy much better than she dared hope. After Romania, it had taken time for them to repair their relationship. His reaction strengthened her belief that they had fully mended the wounds. They'd need the strength of their bond to endure the coming trials. "Mr. Callen, I suggest we sit down. Miss Romanskia and I will explain."

Tatyana moved to her seat by the window and sat down, Callen sat back in his seat across from Hetty's and she began. "I suppose I should start by telling you what I do, and how Hetty and I know each other."

G. nodded and made his posture as non-threatening as possible without dropping his guard. "Sounds like a good place to start."

"I'm an intelligence analyst, and liaison between American, British, and Russian state agencies. I specialize in organizing and distributing information between the three nations and coordinating joint operations."

Callen frowned in confusion. "I've never known a liaison to work with three different nations before. Why have I never heard of you? I've done a lot of work in Russia; you're not the kind of person I would have missed."

The corners of Tatyana's lips twitched up, slightly amused by his certainty that he should know her. He seemed offended that he didn't. "Mr. Callen, if your known date of birth is correct, then you are several years older than I am."

G.'s eyes narrowed slightly. "You've read my file," he stated.

"Yes, I'll explain why in a moment. In any case, very few people in the intelligence community know about me. All three governments like to keep me a secret."

"What makes you so special?" He sounded much harsher than he wanted to be, but his instincts told him this could get into black ops territory, something he hated with a passion.

Tatyana took the brusque manner in stride. From what she knew about him, she had expected a far worse welcome. "I have very rare and valuable gifts, Mr. Callen, and I use these gifts to help when I'm needed by various government agencies. I promise you will get more information. I must ask you to be patient for just a few more minutes."

For a moment, he wished he had a banana, but he'd settle for another glass of tea. He pushed his glass towards Hetty, and grateful when she served him another. "I can do that. Now may I ask how you know Hetty?"

Hetty gave him the re-fill and answered. "I'm a very old friend of the family, Mr. Callen. During the Cold War, Tatyana's grandfather Alexei and I were friendly adversaries. I knew her father when he was a child, and I've known her mother's family for many years. I have known Tatyana since birth."

"Hetty, helped raise me after my mother died when I was seven," Taytana continued, smiling softly. "I'm here because, out of all my contacts in the American intelligence community, she is one of two people I trust; and the only person who can help me."

Callen took a long drink of his tea. "I'm assuming this help has to do with whoever's trying to kill you."

Tatyana took a deep breath. She had already gone through the basics with Gibbs, but now she needed to be completely open. "Yes, but there are bigger issues at stake. Four years ago, I was coordinating a joint OP with MI6 and the SVR in Moscow. There had been some minor incidents concerning some protests with the Chechnyan conflict. Some students set up a demonstration near the British Embassy, and there was some minor damage and casualties. During the OP, members of a Chechnyan cell run by a man named, Alexander Brazanlov kidnapped me outside of my home. They held and tortured me for six weeks. Fortunately, MI6, the CIA, and the SVR were able to work together to find me before it was too late."

Callen had spent some time with Chechnyan terror cells back in his CIA days, after he and Tracy divorced; it had haunted him for years after. "If you're an analyst, then someone set you up. But why did they take you?"

Tatyana's dark eyes searched the mysterious G. Callen. He was a living legend in the global intelligence community. A man with no concrete identity of his own, he could assume any persona he wanted. His most dangerous enemies and ardent detractors fully admitted that he was a hero for his cause even as they questioned his sanity. She understood why. She knew everything there was to know in his files. She even had access to information that Hetty had no idea existed about certain missions he'd been on. However, with all of that, she knew very little about the man.

Gibbs had made this easier for her to talk about. There was nothing mysterious about him. He was a living, breathing example of _'what you see is_ _what you get.' _He was so like her papa. Callen was different. As soon as she opened her mouth, he seemed to go completely blank. The passion she'd briefly witnessed when he thought Hetty was in danger evaporated like fog. Now, the only thing she could be sure of was that his quick mind worked rapidly to put the fragments of information together.

She got up to pour herself another glass of tea, and she took her time, allowing the process to focus her thoughts. "When they took me, they said that they wanted to know how much information SVR had about Chechnyan cells in the city, but frankly, I knew that wasn't the truth. As you said, if they found me, they already had a mole. The only reason I can come up with is that they knew who I am and what I can do; they must have wanted to break me so I would work for them. Ever since I recovered, I've done everything I can to find the mole in the SVR and Brazanlov, but without success. I can't even speculate as to how they found a way to tag my luggage."

Hetty watched her agent very carefully as he absorbed everything. He kept his face blank, hardly unusual. Most of the time, even she couldn't read him, she just guessed accurately. However, she could see him reading Tatyana like he read a newspaper. His eyes penetrated her, noticing anything and everything. She wouldn't be surprised if he had counted the young woman's eyelashes and stored the information in case it became relevant. He catalogued every breath, every gesture, he left nothing unwatched. In these moments, it became blatantly clear that G. Callen was a dangerous man.

He embodied the very best of the best, and was the only one who could possibly make this mission a success. "Mr. Callen, Miss Romanskia is here because we believe that Alexander Brazanlov is here. Two weeks ago, our surveillance of a suspected cell of _Abu Sayyaf_ revealed that a man possibly claiming to be a major player in the Polish black market approached the suspects with an offer of an arms deal. We had no pictures, only a voice, and none of our databases had a match."

"So let me guess, you called in a few favors and Miss Romanskia, recognized Brazanlov's voice," Callen replied.

Tatyana put down her tea as her hands began trembling. "Exactly, Mr. Callen. I'm the only person alive that can identify Brazanlov, and I'm here to do that. I don't want to step on any toes. I'm not an agent, and I know that you will have complete control over this case. I need to get this man, and I know we can help each other."

As Callen sat in Hetty's office listening, his protective instincts took a dramatic shift. This woman had gotten to him; how deeply, he didn't know, but she had definitely touched something in him. Perhaps it was because he saw a bit of Jenny Shepard in her, or maybe she reminded him of Hetty. More likely, he felt that way because he found her beautiful, and he had a hero complex. It did not really matter, he had gotten invested.

He gave her his most cocky smile and confident swagger. "Well, we'll be happy to work with you. We're going to need everything you have on this guy, and a plan."

It didn't surprise Tatyana that Callen, had completely transformed before her eyes. She'd worked with agents specializing in deep cover many times in her career. Still, his shift into aggressive charm unnerved her more than his overt hostility. She felt her face beginning to turn hot and turned to Hetty. "Hetty, where did you put that package I sent you?"

The ultra-petite Operation's Manager went to her most secure safe, equipped with biometric and retinal scanning, so nobody but her could ever hope to open it. She pulled out an aluminum briefcase with a digital lock. "Here you are, my dear. Now, I will give you two a few minutes alone and Leroy and I will round up the troops. We have work to do."

Tatyana took the case, and gave Hetty a hug. "Thank you for keeping it safe, and thank you for doing this with me. I'll do my absolute best, I promise."

Hetty squeezed her hand. "I know that you will. Mr. Callen, do remember that your paperwork and your expense reports must be on time. Don't think I don't know about the Versace boots you destroyed."

Callen rolled his eyes and sighed. "Hetty, I told you that they ran. I couldn't catch them and take care of the footwear at the same time."

"We do not have an unlimited budget, Mr. Callen, do consider that."

Callen groaned dramatically and sat back down. "I'll try to do better, Hetty."

"That's all I ask. Well done, Mr. Callen."

"Thanks, Hetty."

When they were alone, Tatyana put the case on her desk. "Mr. Callen, if worse comes to worst, I may have to go into the field with you. I realize that this is far from ideal in many ways. First, and most importantly, I have no experience in fieldwork and deep cover. Second, you don't know me, and therefore, being partnered with me makes things that much more dangerous. I want you to know that I am fully aware of how much I am asking of NCIS and of you most of all."

Callen wasn't used to humility in the people he interacted with often. He wouldn't even call himself the most humble of men. In his work, the criminals were never humble. The bureaucrats were even worse. Even his team had perfected the art of the _'humble brag.'_ Tatyana's open willingness to admit that she was a liability to the operation wasn't something he had experienced. It told him a lot about who she was, and it explained why she had a negative reaction when he had turned on the charm. She valued honesty, and felt uncomfortable with facades. He'd get more out of her being his closed off, socially handicapped, and difficult self.

"Well, you've read my file, so you know I'm not averse to doing some crazy things. All I have to ask is this: are you willing to take direction and learn?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, sensing that he had dropped any front he had put up before. She took it as a good sign that they could work together, and maybe it would be possible to earn his trust. "I am. I want to do everything possible to ensure our safety and success."

Callen's eyes clouded with concern; he truly appreciated her concern for the team, but he couldn't allow her to believe that just following orders would keep everyone safe. "Look, I think it's great that you understand your limitations, and that you're willing to listen. It will make things go a lot more smoothly, and we'll all get along better. Still, you have to understand that nothing you can do will change the danger we'll all be in. Somebody still may be hurt or killed. Those are the risks; we accepted them when we chose this life. For now, you have to accept it too."

For an instant, sheer terror shone brightly in her eyes, but she remained very still; her voice already very soft, and gentle by nature, grew so quiet that he had to strain to hear her. "I do understand that we could all die, Mr. Callen. I have very few reservations about risking my own life, if that means we capture Brazanlov. However, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to handle anyone being hurt or dying on this mission because of a mistake I make."

G. got up and took a few steps closer to her. He wished that he knew a way of reassuring her or comforting her, but his social skills with strangers didn't exist, especially with strangers he thought he could like. He shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do. "I think that it's a bad idea to think someone might be hurt because of something you've done. Frankly, there are way too many variables to consider in a mission like this. The odds are better that if things go south, it will have nothing to do with you. It's far more likely that I'd do something to make them start shooting."

Recalling the hundreds of mission reports that she had seen from all sides, telling of numerous incidents where Callen's mouth got him into deeper trouble, made her feel better. "I suppose I am talking to an expert."

Her completely sincere statement, said with such innocence, made him laugh. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Miss Romanskia."

Her face brightened, and her lips quirked into a small smile. "I'm glad you think so, and that brings me to my package. It's for you."

Callen stepped up to the desk and examined the briefcase. "Not that I'm not grateful, but what's in there that is so sensitive that it needs to be so heavily secured. I'm sure I don't need an aluminum briefcase. They're too conspicuous for work."

"Not to worry, Mr. Callen. I'll give you the code. Inside is everything there is to know about me."

His eyes went wide, and he hoped his mouth didn't drop open in shock. "Well, I have to admit I wasn't expecting that."

"I didn't think you would be. I am a very firm believer that in order to get a person's trust, you must first give them yours. I thought that this would be an appropriate start."

Callen shook his head trying to put his thoughts together. "You've already read my files, so I don't understand your thinking here."

She impulsively put her hand on his shoulder, as a caring gesture. His eyes flew to hers, but she didn't move away. "Mr. Callen, you might find this hard to believe, but while what I read told me a great deal about you as an agent; it told me very little about you as a person."

Callen smirked, "Oh you can join the club. Not even I know much about G. Callen."

She heard the disappointed longing in his voice. It was extremely faint, and carefully hidden beneath sarcastic mockery, but she heard it. Her stomach twisted painfully. "I'm not referring to a given name, or relatives. I meant nothing that I read told me what would make you smile instantly. It didn't tell me what your favorite way is to spend a lazy Sunday. It didn't tell what little things about everyday life make you crazy. I know as much about you as you know about me. I just have a head start on your professional life. That's why I put my life in this case. We don't have much time, and for this to work you and I have to have a basic level of trust. I can't have the upper hand, but I had to research you. Now you have the chance to do the same to me. I just added more details about myself, that's all."

For a few moments, Callen's annoyance with Hetty for not letting him in the loop about all this sooner burned in his gut again. If he'd had enough time, he could have been prepared. Right now, he felt like a fish out of water, and he didn't like it at all. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself, "Okay what's the combination?"

Tatyana realized that her hand was still on his shoulder, and snatched it back as if burnt. "03-11-70."

"My birthday? I mean as far as I know."

"Yes, it seemed right somehow. There is a USB in there too; it's got everything I know about Brazanlov on it. It's encoded and the password is_ maytwentieth2008_."

For a moment, Callen's heart skipped a beat. That was the day Jenny died. A day he still couldn't think about without anger, because she hadn't called him for help. "Is there any special significance for that?"

A deep pain blossomed over her face. "Actually, it has significance for both of us. We lost Jenny, and that was the day they took me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors Note: Two updates in a month again! Thank you, Melbelle for all the incredibly hard work and patience. **

Tony finally had the suit of his dreams. In fact, everything about his new outfit, from the perfectly tailored _Armani_ to the buttery soft leather of the _Gucci_ shoes, was nothing short of exquisite. He prided himself on being a good dresser, but he'd finally reached the ultimate level of cool. He stood in front of the mirror doing his best _James Bond_ (Connery of course) when a voice startled him.

"Mr. DiNozzo, while I compliment you on your excellent taste in James Bonds, I regret to inform you that your impersonation of Mr. Connery is woefully lacking. As an old friend of his, I am offended on his behalf."

Tony's eyes went wide. Abby had come home from her previous trip to this LA LA-Land, regaling them all with stories of Callen's team's heroics, and tales of Hetty's intrigues. He had been amused to hear them, but assumed the eccentric leader had embellished a few to make Abby feel better after her experience with a serial killer. He had to revise that opinion. "Well there's nobody I admire more as _James Bond_. Ask anyone, I'm a huge fan. I certainly didn't mean any offense- thanks for the loan, Miss Lange. This just might be the coolest outfit I've ever worn."

Hetty smiled. "It's nice to have a man around that appreciates good clothing and style. The men on my team always chafe at dressing in a more sophisticated manner."

The famous DiNozzo grin, which seduces so many women and infuriates more men, broke out on his face for the first time that day. "That's their loss, Miss Lange. Anybody that doesn't appreciate the effort you put into this, is crazy. I feel like a million bucks."

"You certainly look like it. Mr. Callen and his team have arrived, and we're meeting upstairs for a complete briefing."

Tony offered her his arm. "I would be honored to escort you there."

Upstairs, Abby had the huge Navy SEAL caught in one of her famous, vice-like hugs. "Sam, it's so good to see you. How have you been?"

"Abby, I need a little air," he gasped.

Deeks, who had glued himself to Ziva's side the moment he laid eyes on her, began laughing. "The big guy can hold his breath under water for eight minutes, but a little hug knocks the wind out of him."

Ziva winked at him. "You have not experienced a proper Abby hug. They are quite strong, and it is hard to breath."

"What does a man have to do to get 'a proper Abby hug'?"

Kensi jabbed her partner in his ribs as hard as she could without breaking them. "Abby gives those to the people who deserve them; not scruffy perverts like you, Deeks."

He doubled over, and grunted in pain. "Oh jeeze, _Fern_! What'd you do that for, woman? It was just a question!"

"Well, stop asking them!"

Callen walked in. "Kensi, how many times have I told you that you can't break Deeks. He's too expensive."

Abby launched herself at OSP's very best Special Agent in Charge. "It's so good to see you, G. Callen!"

He easily caught her in a hug. Normally, he preferred to avoid excessive physical contact, he didn't care for the feeling of vulnerability that came with it. He made an exception for Abby because he adored her. A hug from her, always freely given, had no hidden agenda. The fact that she expected nothing in return made it easier for him to accept. "I'm glad to see you too, Abby Sciuto. You're the only woman on the planet that makes Goth look gorgeous." He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her once more, then let her go. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Forced vacation. Gibbs said that he was doing a favor for a friend yesterday, and when we got the call that he wanted the team to meet him in NY, and fly out here, I tagged along. I forgot LA is cursed."

Callen gave her his best puppy-eyes. "That's a little harsh, Abby Sciuto."

"G. Callen, for us it's totally cursed. First Jenny, then me, and now snipers…" she shuddered and took a deep breath, "Tatyana... you keep her safe- or I will make sure you pay and leave no trace," she ordered with a hint of a growl in her voice.

All traces of kidding left his face, and voice. "I promise I will personally break the curse of LA for you, Abby Sciuto. We're going to find whoever is after Miss Romanskia and put them away. Hey, between with our teams working together, these guys don't stand a chance. You trust me, right?"

A soft smile broke out on her lips. "Of course I do."

Callen threw his arm around her shoulder and smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Now, let me say hi to everyone else." He walked over to Ziva and brushed an extremely chaste kiss on her lips. "It's been a very, very long time, Beautiful."

Ziva smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "It has. You were _'Keller'_ the last time we met. I still remember our picnic on the beach."

Tony and Hetty walked in just as Callen kissed her. "Ziva, you shouldn't be kissing strange men. What would people say?" Tony chided with a slightly scandalized tone.

Callen walked over to him and offered his hand. "You must be the famous Anthony DiNozzo. How you've managed to work with Gibbs so long, I'll never know. Once in Serbia and once in Russia was more than enough for me."

Gibbs looked over from where he was speaking with Sam and Kensi. "You're just saying that because I saved your hide, G."

Callen breathed a long-suffering sigh, "Russia doesn't count, Gunny. Jenny had to pull us both out of the fire in Serbia."

Tony took his hand, but his eyes narrowed and his smile had an edge. "It takes a certain kind of person to click with Gibbs. I'm just fortunate that I happen to be one of them. Tell me, do you always kiss women you've just met?"

Ziva scowled, but Callen cut off any reply she wanted to make. "I met Ziva years ago, she just didn't know my real name."

Tony glanced at his partner and back to Callen trying to gage the depth of their previous relationship. "That sounds like quite a tale."

Callen shrugged. "Not really, I was between jobs, just went through a nasty divorce. I ran into Ziva, and helped her out of a tiny jam. Then we had a vacation together. It was fun."

"Sounds like, _An Affair to Remember_, only without the Empire State building."

Ziva decided to end the issue before it began. "There was no affair, Tony! I was stranded in Czechoslovakia twelve years ago. I had three broken ribs, and a fractured ankle. Callen, or Keller as I knew him then, hid me and took care of me until I was well enough to return to Israel. He escorted me home, and I made sure he had a proper vacation."

Tony smirked and waggled his eyebrows, but a hint of bitterness colored his voice. "Sounds like he took good care of you, because there must have been some fun frolicking."

Ziva pushed Callen out of the way and stood so close to Tony that their faces nearly touched. "Tali was there with us Tony," she whispered.

Callen added his own explanation, not wanting Ziva to explain his actions. "Then, Deputy Director David was less than thrilled when I showed up. Instead of making things worse by telling him I was with CIA at the time, I posed as a summer fling. A good time was had by all, but I assure you it was completely platonic."

Tony stared at Callen for a moment, using all his skills to read him. Unfortunately, the other man only showed him what he wanted him to see. "Tell me you really stuck it to him."

Callen wore a smile that could charm the devil. "I count it as one of my top three covers, but Ziva did the hard work."

Ziva blushed furiously at his praise. "I did nothing. Tali fell so much in love with you that her jealousy convinced my father."

Callen turned back to her and pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry I couldn't contact you when she died, Ziva. I wanted to but I couldn't bring Keller back. He was a CIA cover and I was getting out when we met. I thought about sending you a card or a letter when I heard about your father's death, but I didn't know how. We didn't keep in touch, and you might have forgotten me."

She squeezed him once, then let go. "You do not have to explain, Callen. I owe you a great deal, not just for helping me, but for giving Tali and I such wonderful memories of her last summer."

His eyes dimmed slightly with sadness that such a lovely young girl had such a short life. "You don't owe me anything. The pleasure was mine. I have those memories too."

Hetty approached the pair. "Mr. Callen, as much as I regret interrupting this walk down memory lane, I must ask where Miss Romanskia is."

"She had to use the ladies room, she'll be in soon," he replied. Then he turned to McGee, "Tim! It's great to see you again."

"Hey, Callen," he replied offering his hand. "Glad to see you again. You look really good."

"Thanks, haven't been shot full of holes recently. Are you taking care of my girl?" he asked nodding his head in Abby's direction.

Tim smiled. "Taking care of Abby is a group effort."

"Hey!" she screeched.

Callen chuckled. "Yeah, but you're the point man."

Just as Abby started to object to the idea that she needed taken care of, Tatyana entered the room along with Carter and his team. "Forgive me for keeping you all waiting; we have a lot to discuss. Agent Carter, I'd like to thank you and your team for their help. As unfortunate as Nicolai's death is to our common problem, nobody's to blame but the man who ordered his death."

Carter appeared slightly appeased by the acknowledgement. "Some of my colleagues disagree with you."

Tatyana glanced at Tony, but didn't respond to the taunt. "Before we go any further, I think it would be appropriate for me to meet everyone else. Hetty, perhaps you could..."

"I'll introduce you," Callen interrupted. "Miss Romanskia, this is my team: Special Agent Sam Hanna, Special Agent Kensi Blye, Detective Marty Deeks, he's our liaison with the LAPD, Eric Beale, our technical guru, and Nell Jones, our resident MENSA representative/intelligence analyst."

"I'm so pleased to meet you all. I only wish it were under different circumstances. Now, I'll not keep you in suspense any longer. Mr. Carter, I understand that you and your team have been running a surveillance OP on a suspected cell of _Abu Sayyaf _here in the city."

"That's right. For the last three weeks we've been working morning, noon, and night, but we can't seem to pin down any solid evidence," the stocky agent replied with tightly controlled frustration.

Tatyana nodded. "You reported a new player has been introduced as an arms dealer, is this information still correct?"

Carter shifted uncomfortably. "We're still trying to figure that out. Whoever this person is, he's a shifty one. His Arabic is so heavily accented and broken that not much of what he says makes sense at all. What we do know is that he wants to use their services. He's willing to pay a lot of money for them."

Sam now joined the conversation, "I've been consulting with Agent Carter's team on the translations. He's right - most of it is gibberish. If this is a cell of _Abu Sayyaf_, we can't prove it, but just the fact that they're dealing with this mystery guy and discussing import/export is highly suspicious."

"Have you been able to get any images of him?" Tatyana asked.

Carter ran his hand through his hair in frustration, making his cowlicks worse. "Whoever this guy is, he's utterly paranoid. The most we've gotten is some half shots in shadows; always his back and he's always wearing a hat."

Tatyana moved to the giant screen. "Mr. Beale, could you please pull up all of the photos? It's a long shot, but it just might give me a starting point."

"Sure, but I've done everything I possibly can to enhance the photos. There isn't even a reflection of a face."

Within seconds, a group of images appeared on screen of a tall thin man. He'd carefully positioned himself in each picture so that there were no identifying characteristics. Tatyana began calling images in her mind of every man she had ever seen of similar height, build, and who wore the same clothing, anything to give her even a hint of where to start looking. "I'm not looking for a face," she whispered. "If I've seen anyone that matches what I can see in these photos, I may know where to start looking for one."

Gibbs walked up beside her. "I thought you never saw him."

"I said didn't see him during my capture," she corrected. "That doesn't mean I never saw him before. He might have been in a photo, a video, anything from anywhere. If I can recognize anything, even the brand of his clothing, it could give me a start."

Deeks looked aghast at this statement. "What does his suit have to do with anything?"

The young woman didn't answer. Hundreds of images flickered through her mind at lightning speed while she desperately tried to find a clue. Her eyes grew more distant, not even focusing on the screen anymore.

"Good god!" Nell gasped.

"What?" Eric replied.

"She's cross-checking in her brain. I've heard of this, but I've never seen it before."

Sam and Kensi grew increasingly uncomfortable with what they saw. "Care to explain what's going on, Nell?" The large man asked.

Awe spread across the younger woman's face. "I think she's piking."

"Well that doesn't sound good! What is that?" Kensi demanded.

"Wait! Nell, are you sure?" Eric gasped.

"It's the only explanation. She's literally remembering every image she's ever seen trying to make possible matches to our images."

Deeks' jaw dropped. "You mean like that girl on the TV show? I thought that was make-believe."

"What TV show, Deeks?" Callen scoffed.

"You should really get a TV, Callen. Try to act normal sometime, you might even relax."

"Deeks!" he growled.

"Okay, it's about this woman. She's a cop, and she remembers everything that has ever happened to her. Everything she's ever seen, heard, or done. Like I said, I thought it was fake, but-." Kensi smacked him on the arm before he could finish.

"I swear I will kill you with my nail clipper if you don't stop embarrassing yourself," she hissed.

"I assure you it isn't, Mr. Deeks," Hetty broke in. "While Miss Romanskia's gift isn't exactly how it is portrayed on television, hyperthymesia, although extremely rare, is quite real. That is only the beginning of what her mind is capable of."

Callen kept his eyes on the young woman. She stood as still as a statue, completely unaware of her surroundings. He shuddered at the thought of how someone might use her, yet for a moment, he felt irrationally, deeply jealous. "Is that why this guy is after her?"

"We don't know, Mr. Callen," Hetty replied.

Then Tatyana came back to the present. She turned to the group behind her and spoke in her calm and quiet voice. "Hetty, I'll need you to call in some very big favors with the British and the Russians. We need permission for Mr. Beale, Miss Jones, Agent McGee, and Miss Sciuto to do some very dangerous hacking. The governments may need some plausible deniability."

"I'll get right on it."

Then Tatyana turned to Gibbs. "I know you all hate it here, and I don't blame you. OSP has a special set of skills, your team has a special set of skills, but I'm certain we'll never succeed without both combined."

Gibbs just nodded. "We're here for as long as it takes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Namaste and good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen! So here we are another chapter in the long saga that will go on and on. Just to let you know, the next update won't be for quite a while as a totally NEW story is in the editing process along with the next chapter of "He's Mine"! For more information I urge everyone to periodically check my profile. I update it a lot and it's how I like to communicate to the general audience. If anyone has a specific question, I always respond to a PM!**

**As usual a thank you to Melbelle, and Ambrosia Rush, who help obliterate my ignorance and keep me sane. I own nothing, I get no money, I'm just playing and trying to hone the craft of wordsmithing.**

* * *

><p>Hetty looked at her watch. Seeing the hour well past 1900, she decided everyone had been through an extremely long day, and the time had come for everyone to refresh and refuel for the challenges ahead. "I don't think there is anything else we can do for the night. Proving this mystery man is indeed Alexander Brazanlov, we will have to take a back seat to finding out whether this group is, in fact a cell of <em>Abu Sayyaf<em>. By now, Brazanlov is aware that we know he was tracking Miss Romanskia and that he has lost her. Let's all get some food and rest. There's nothing that cannot wait until morning."

Gibbs' face showed his disapproval. "We could work on those tracking devices."

McGee went pale, not wanting to be the messenger at this moment. "Um, Boss I don't think that would be any help to us right now."

"Why?"

"Well, you see... I tuned my cell to let me know if the transmissions changed. It wasn't easy but basically..." he trailed off and took a deep breath.

"Spit it out, Tim!" Gibbs barked.

"They went dead, Boss. I really don't think they would have told us much. They were far too conspicuous and outdated," he paused and somehow resisted squeezing his eyes shut while waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger.

Tatyana sighed and gave an encouraging look to the disappointed tech expert. "Brazanlov is arrogant and overconfident, but he is not stupid. Even if we could trace the origins of the signal, nothing would have tied it to him. It's probably best that we focus on who might have placed them and the sniper. I'll draw the faces of the men that handled my trunks and determine for sure if I ever saw them before. If not, we can run them through the databases. I don't hold out too much hope that the identity of the sniper will lead anywhere, but it's the only thing we have to go on for now. More than likely, he's just somebody hired as a 'just in case' measure."

Hetty turned to Gibbs. The man eclipsed her in almost every way, save one: he couldn't beat her determination. "Leroy, you've completed a twenty-one hour flight, you have been shot at, and it is time to rest. Now, I realize that you are used to pushing yourself and your team. When the time comes to forgo food and proper rest, then that is what we will do. However, you are in MY house now, and I am the only one who will decide if and when that time comes."

He refused to back down, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You were the one who asked for my help, Hetty."

"Yes I did. This will only succeed if our two teams work together, but I still run OSP. As long as you're here, you and your team will play by my rules. We all need rest. Mr. Callen and his team just completed a grueling case involving three weeks of extremely deep cover. I know all about the case you and your team just wrapped up, and exactly how long it's been since any one of you got a decent amount of rest, not to mention a proper nutritious meal despite what you all ate on the jet. One night will not impede this case."

Gibbs sighed in defeat. He could only be grateful that Hetty never wanted to be the Director of NCIS. If she ever did become the boss, his days there would end. "You win. You can bet that I'll be calling a favor in."

Hetty smiled, secure in her triumph. "I'll pay my debts, Leroy. Now, I have procured a house for Miss Romanskia to stay in while she is here. I would appreciate both you and Mr. Callen staying with her as a protection detail. Your team is in a home on the same street. I'm sure you'll all find the accommodations more than satisfactory."

Tatyana's mouth dropped open in surprise, but she quickly composed herself. "Really, Hetty, is that quite necessary? I thought I would stay with you. Surely, between the two of us I'll be safe. After all, Brazanlov's lost me. Mr. Callen should sleep in his own bed. Jethro's done more than his fair share looking after me."

"I'm sorry, my dear," Hetty replied gently. "I had hoped that this would not be necessary, but after today's events I will not take any chances with your safety. Catching Brazanlov is important, but I will not let you die to do it. The fact of the matter is both Mr. Callen and Agent Gibbs are far better choices to protect you than I am. While I trust everyone in this room with my own life, they are the only two people I would ever trust with yours."

The rest of the most elite team of the OSP frowned, each wondering about the connection between their leader and this woman who had so suddenly and mysteriously entered their lives. Deeks squirmed from the tension and instinctively tried to cut through it. "Look on the bright side, Hetty. You've got the two legends in the NCIS and the best of the best as back-up. You don't really have to worry."

Hetty shook her head. "I will always worry, Mr. Deeks. Now, Agent McGee, I believe you said the tracking devices on Miss Romanskia's, trunks are completely disabled."

"Yes, Ma'am. It should be perfectly safe to have the trunks now."

Hetty nodded. "Agent Carter, will you please take agents McGee and DiNozzo back to the airport so that we may check for any other unwanted devices, and return the trunks to their rightful owner?"

"Sure, Hetty," the other man grumbled, sending a glare to Tony.

After the three men left OPS, Hetty turned to Callen and handed him a piece of paper. "Mr. Callen, here is the address of where Miss Romanskia will stay. Would you be so kind to drive her and Agent Gibbs? I will drive with Miss David and Miss Sciuto, and we will meet you there."

"Got it, Hetty." He turned to Tatyana. "Traffic might be a pain, so if you would like to get a drink or a snack now would be a good time. There's water and trail mix available."

"Thank you, Mr. Callen. I think I could use some water; I suppose I am a little dehydrated."

"I keep bottles on my desk."

"I can find it."

"We'll come with you," Abby said, once again dragging Ziva behind her.

Once they left the room, Sam, Kensi, and Deeks approached Hetty. "Yes, is there something I can help you all with?"

Sam took a breath to compose himself before answering. "We're just waiting for our orders, Hetty."

"I had thought I made it clear. You are all to go home and rest; there will be plenty to do tomorrow for everyone."

Sam frowned. "Hetty, no offense to Agent Gibbs, but Callen is my partner. I should be the one to back him up."

She turned a stern glare onto him. "I've made my decision, Mr. Hanna. You would do well to abide by it," she rebuked.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, astonished that the man he'd assumed to be a by-the-book agent flaunted blatant insubordination. "G. and I work well together, Agent Hanna. He's family, and I've got his back."

Sam stood his ground. "You haven't worked with him in years."

"Agent Gibbs," Kensi interrupted. "There isn't a single member of NCIS that doesn't know who you are, and how good you are at your job. However, with all due respect to your reputation and your personal relationship with Callen, you're on our turf. He is our leader and teammate. We should be the ones with him; you're the outsider here."

Callen always allowed Sam say his piece, and let Hetty slap his objections down, but he drew the line at the junior members of his team speaking out of turn. "Enough, Kensi! As you so aptly put it, _I_ am the leader of this team. You all have your orders. Go home, rest, and be here early in the morning. Not another word."

Kensi glared at Callen, Gibbs, and Hetty before storming out of the room. Deeks let out a long whistle, and then he remembered that Callen meant all of them. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Callen. I had better catch Kensi before she submits the streets of LA to road rage. See ya."

Callen turned to his partner and dearest friend. "Sam, go home. Kiss the Princess for me, and tell Michelle that I won't be able to make it to dinner for a while."

Sam's face twisted in betrayal and displeasure. "G. come on..."

"Sam!" Callen's tone became rougher, colder, and brooked no argument. "Go home. Don't make me play boss here."

Sam chose to make a tactical retreat whenever defeated. "See you tomorrow, G. Goodnight, Hetty, Agent Gibbs."

Hetty patted him on the arm before he could leave. "All will be well, Mr. Hanna."

Sam said nothing as he walked out.

* * *

><p>In the main office, the girls had found the trail mix and water. Abby didn't like all of the tension upstairs, so she convinced her companions to stay downstairs. "They'll be doing the whole pissing contest right now, no need to get mixed up with it."<p>

The corners of Tatyana's mouth quirked up. "Hetty will win."

Ziva shook her head. "You do not know Gibbs."

Abby giggled. "Gibbs is scared of Hetty."

Ziva gently swatted her friend. "Abby! That is not true."

"Sure he is. He wouldn't trust anyone to save me that he would go up against by himself. I know you guys were on your way, but Gibbs trusted Hetty and G. Callen. Anyway, that's not what I'm curious about; they'll work it all out. I want to know what Tatyana thinks about G. Callen," Abby replied waggling her eyebrows, smiling a suggestive grin.

A pensive, confused, expression blossomed on the other woman's face. "I just met Agent Callen today, Abby."

Abby's eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. "Oh come on, Tatyana. G. Callen isn't my type at all, but there's something magnetic about him. It's that,_ 'I'm a bad-boy, but a good man'_ vibe he has. What are your first impressions?"

Tatyana flushed a very pale pink, thinking about the enigmatic G. Callen. He was a striking man. Although still rather fair next to the faux and naturally bronzed bodies that filled his city, compared to her he was golden. He was neither tall nor short, and his build was strong and solid. She certainly found him handsome: light sandy-brown hair, good bone structure, the stereotypical _'all American boy'_ as the expression went. His piercing blue eyes matched a cloudless summer sky. Even his false smiles dazzled, and she knew a genuine smile would eclipse them all. The tiny cracks within his soul lined those beautiful eyes and in the lines around that dashing smile, yet without them, his good looks would be bland and unnoticeable. She wondered if the cracks in her soul showed as beautifully on her, but she doubted it. His unique beauty testified to his strength as a survivor. In another life, she would have reacted like a schoolgirl meeting her favorite football star (or soccer, as it was incomprehensibly known in the States) and hope he'd ask her out on a date. That life had ended four years ago, and no introspection would answer her new friend's question.

She took a dainty sip of water out of the disposable coffee cup she had found. "I think that he's a complicated man. I also think that if anyone could get close to Brazanlov, it's him."

Ziva smiled at the disappointed look on Abby's face, knowing that her friend liked to indulge in matchmaking but didn't dare to try with her team. "I might have known one of his aliases, but I am certain that his cover was very close to who he actually is. He is a good man, one who could use the love of a good woman. His ex-wife is the sort of woman who gives our sex a bad reputation."

Tatyana's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together as if she had eaten a lemon. She'd read the file on the _Keller's_ mission in Uzbekistan to get some insight on the way Callen worked. The file hadn't said much about their personal relationship, but the events told her a lot about how Tracy Rosetti worked. The woman left a bad taste in her mouth. "I think Mr. Callen would rather concentrate on his work and his team."

"I love Gibbs, but the world doesn't need another one. Besides, G. Callen is much too young to go down that road," Abby sighed.

"That, I will agree with," Ziva replied, taking a handful of trail mix.

Tatyana's eyes lit up with mischief. "He's older than you might think."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Oh please, he can't be that much older than us."

"Well, how old do you think I am?" Tatyana asked, reaching for another handful of trail mix.

Abby turned to look at her directly. "I'm not sure, definitely not older than thirty."

A smug little smile tugged at her lips. "I turned thirty-two this past December."

Abby frowned with a little huff. "Well, G. Callen can't be older than thirty-eight!" she retorted defiantly.

A loud laugh startled the young forensics expert, making her jump from her perch on Callen's desk. "Abby Sciuto, that's sweet of you, but you're so wrong."

"G. Callen, you scared me!" she yelped. "What's the idea of sneaking up on us?"

He smiled and patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Abby Sciuto I didn't mean to scare you. I'm afraid Miss Romanskia, is right. I am older than you think. That is, if the information I have is correct."

Ziva's eyebrows rose in surprise. "How old are you?"

The wicked gleam in his eye was enough to make Tony appear like an innocent babe. "I'm old enough, Ziva."

Gibbs appeared out of nowhere. "It's time to go. Abby, Ziva, you're both with Hetty. McGee and DiNozzo will meet us at the safe house with the bags."

Tatyana gracefully rose out of the guest chair. "I packed three steamer trunks, because I have no idea how long I'll be here."

"What difference does that make?"

Hetty chuckled. "Spoken like a true Marine. Don't bother trying to explain the evils of modern luggage to fine clothing, _Tanechka_. There's no point to it."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and smirked when he saw Callen roll his as well. Women were the eternal mystery and there wasn't a man living or dead who could boast he understood them. "Let's get going."

* * *

><p>Hetty led them to the secured parking lot of the OSP. There, they caught sight of the two young techs hunched around the back tire of Nell's <em>Volkswagen Bug.<em> Hetty walked over to them. "If there is a problem I would be happy to drop Miss Jones off before escorting these ladies to their temporary home."

Eric had taken off his bold Hawaiian print shirt to make sure it he didn't stain it while he changed the tire. The t-shirt underneath failed to conceal his muscular arms and torso, sculpted by the powerful California surf. "Not a problem, Hetty. I'll just finish changing this, follow Nell home, and pick her up tomorrow."

"Hey wait a minute!" Nell exclaimed, stomping her foot indignantly. "First of all, I told you that I can change a tire myself. Second, I'm a big girl and have driven on a spare all by myself before. Third, I didn't ask you to pick me up tomorrow. I am perfectly capable of finding my own way to work!"

Eric heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Nell, I know that you are independent and can change a tire on your own, but that is a very pretty skirt you're wearing, and there is no reason you should mess it up when there is someone to help you. I have no doubt you have driven on a spare before, and I have every confidence that your driving skills, like everything else about you, are superior to ordinary people. That said, you do not live in the best of neighborhoods. I don't want to be up all night worried that some thug tried something because he saw you might be vulnerable. As for giving you a ride tomorrow, I apologize. I should've asked what you wanted. I would be more than happy to give you a ride, because that's what partners do for each other. The choice is yours."

Nell wanted to scream in frustration. Why did Eric insist on being so darned sweet all of the time? He had wheedled his way in so far past her barriers, it terrified her, but when she looked into those kind eyes, she caved. "Fine, you can pick me up at my mechanic's at 0630 tomorrow. They owe me for setting up their computer systems for free. I'll text you with the address. Hurry up, I'm starving!"

Eric beamed in delight of his victory. "We're good, Hetty see you tomorrow!"

"Have a good evening, Mr. Beale, Miss Jones."

Nell gave Hetty a small smile. "Have a good evening, Hetty." Then she turned back to Eric. "Since you insist on treating me like a damsel in distress and I refuse to be one, I'm stopping by the Indian place for dinner and I am paying for yours. What do you want?"

Eric grunted as he put his weight on the tire iron to loosen the lug nut. "I am not..." Grunt. "Treating you... "Grunt." Like a damsel..." Another grunt and the nut came loose. "In distress. Jeeze that was tight. I am treating you like a partner and a very good friend. Get used to it."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever!" she huffed. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Shrimp Curry, unless that's what you wanted."

"No, I wanted lamb. What about extra _Naan_?"

"Absolutely!"

"I've also got _Chai_ and beer at home."

Eric smiled. If he had a beer or two he couldn't drive home right away. That meant more time with his partner, and despite not knowing if anything would come of this 'thing' sparking between them or where it might lead, he considered her the best friend he had. "I'll bet I can beat you at _Jedi Academy_."

Nell Jones never backed down from a challenge, especially if that challenge affronted her title as Queen of the geeks of LA. "Dream on youngling! I can make you look like a helpless babe with the Force."

Eric finished putting on the spare, tightened the last lug nut and stood up. He turned to Nell and gave her an exaggerated bow. "Then let us duel, My Lady."

An evil, vicious smile broke out on her lips, contrasting with her happy and gentle eyes. "Let's." She got into her car and drove away while Eric followed as closely as safety allowed.

* * *

><p>The small group watched the pair from a short distance away. "I wonder what that is about," Ziva remarked.<p>

"She looks like she's going to eat him alive. I wonder what Eric did to make her mad," Callen chuckled.

Abby giggled. Things were definitely sizzling between her dear friend and the object of his affection. She hoped that they got the chance to build up their chemistry into something that worked. "She's not mad. He challenged her, and she accepted."

Tatyana agreed. "Definitely a _Jedi _bow."

Abby started bouncing. "_The Force_ is strong with you."

Callen's amused gaze landed heavily on Tatyana, and she cursed her pale skin for betraying her self-consciousness by turning pink yet again. "Everyone needs hobbies, especially when they live alone. Sci-Fi/Fantasy is one of mine."

"Great," he replied. "Now Eric and Nell can have a new playmate while you're here."

Tatyana willed herself to keep from flushing a deeper pink. "We should get going, Mr. Callen."

Hetty took her by the hand and led her to the same car they had come in from the airport. Tatyana pulled back slightly. "Oh no Hetty please—" she trailed off, "it's worse than flying. They lost me now. Do we really need to take the armored car?"

"No unnecessary risks my dear," The older woman replied gently.

All of the heat left Tatyana's skin, making it as pale as moonbeams. Goosebumps broke out over her arms and she shivered violently. "It's too bloody dark at night Hetty," she hissed.

Gibbs wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "Come on now, you've been brave all day. I'll be sitting with you."

"You don't understand," her voice cracked with the strain of fear.

"It has to be this way," he replied, keeping his voice gentle.

Callen looked to Hetty for some clarification on the situation, but she kept her eyes on the young woman in Jethro's arms. Eventually, the young woman took a deep breath and stepped to the car door. Gibbs opened it and the pair got into the back seat.

Hetty turned to her best agent. "I don't care what you have to do, Mr. Callen. Get her to the house as fast as safety will allow."

The younger man nodded. "I might get pulled over."

"Flash your badge. If you still have problems, give them my number."

If one thing disrupted Callen's cool headed nature, it was seeing Hetty - his boss, his friend, his guardian angel, his closest family - in pain. "Hetty, are you okay?" He rested his hand on her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand tightly and gave him the keys. "Just take care of her, Mr. Callen. She is extremely precious to me. I'm afraid for her."

Callen clenched his jaw, transforming his face into his most determined expression. The same determination that had made him fly off to Eastern Europe after one of his own. "Gibbs and I won't let anything happen to her, I promise." He bent down and kissed the tiny woman on top of her head. Then he got into the car and started it up. He looked into the rear-view mirror and saw Tatyana squeezing his friend's hand hard, probably cutting off his circulation. "I hope nobody minds classical music. It's either that, or Lady Gaga," he said lightly, hoping she might relax.

Tatyana stared at those beautiful sky blue eyes in the mirror. She knew how much Hetty trusted him and how much she loved him. She wouldn't break down like a lunatic over a car ride. How on earth would he trust her after that? "Do you think there might be any _Yo-Yo Ma_ we could listen to?" she whispered.

Callen smiled. "Why as a matter of fact, there is. Good choice."

Hetty stood with Ziva and Abby as the car drove away. Her heart broke for Tatyana, but she knew that her Mr. Callen would now give his life take care of her. Brazanlov's days were numbered. She only hoped they left some of him for her; nobody hurt the people she loved and got away without her retribution. Nobody. "Well ladies, let's get going. You must both be worn out. What would you say we take the _Mustang_?"

Abby squealed. "Oh yes!"

"Please let me drive!" Ziva begged. "Tony will be so jealous."

Hetty smirked. "Not tonight dear, but I promise before you leave you'll get the chance."

Hetty led the girls to the beautiful, gleaming red, crown jewel of American muscle cars. They all got in and Abby squealed, "this is beyond awesome!"

Hetty turned on the radio and set her play list. Lady Gaga's _Poker Face_ blasted through the speakers. "Hold on tight girls!" she yelled over the music, and the roar of the engines as the car sped off onto the streets of LA.


	10. Chapter 10

**Saalam-Namaste, Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen! We all owe my wonderful beta (and newly published NCIS:LA fanfiction author) Melbelle310 all the applause and thanks possible. So please go read her new stories! She single-handedly saved this chapter! I loathed it. As the new year is fast approaching I wish you all happiness, health, safety, and much love.**

**Now, as some readers my be aware I've been writing this beast for two years and eight days as of today! So much was written BEFORE all the canon shake-ups: Ziva leaving, McGee's annoying girlfriend, and Densi's big (cough) event. Now, my poor little story is officially AU! I HATE that I wrote out Mike Renko to keep in canon but, that's how it goes in the big leagues! I will update my summery and be prepare for me to get a little wild and crazy now! **

* * *

><p>Callen had to admit that when Hetty wanted to go all out with a safe house, she went for the biggest bang possible. They pulled up to the most secure and exclusive gated community in Malibu. He stopped at the gate, rolled down the window, and gave the name and address Hetty had written down for him to a burly, middle-aged man with an easy smile. The security guard took the address and signaled the gate to be opened. "Welcome, <em>Mr. Michaels<em>. We've been expecting you."

"Thanks."

"If there's anything we can do for you, just let us know. I hope you and your family enjoy the neighborhood, but rumor has it that some people are filming one of those moronic reality shows two houses down from you," the older man snarled with contempt.

Callen let a smirk break out on his face. Hetty's covers always leaned toward the dramatic. He wondered what Gibbs would say when he found out that his team was now reality TV's newest sensations. "Well it just proves that notoriety is getting more powerful than money. It's sad, but I paid well for this little slice of heaven, and a bunch of fame seekers isn't going to stop me from enjoying it."

The guard tipped his hat. "It sure is a nice place you've gotten, _Mr. Michaels_. Have a good evening."

Callen gave a jaunty wave and pulled away. Through the rear-view mirror, he watched Tatyana relax as they drove on well-lit streets with the lights in the mansions surrounding them. Gibbs' eyes, filled with disapproval met his. "Was it a good idea to let that security guard get such a good look at us?"

G. chuckled. "Careful, Jethro, I'm the king of paranoia in this branch of NCIS. That _'security guard'_ was Special Agent Jacob Cooper. Jake and his team are infesting this neighborhood as back up for our teams. It's probably his last op. He's retiring in a month. Great guy; he's got a lovely wife and eight kids, but after the tenth bullet Shelia said enough. He's got his pension and all his benefits now. He can afford to retire. Sam's planning a huge bash as a farewell party."

Tatyana face broke out into the first true smile since her encounter with Nicolai. "Good heavens! How did he manage to have eight children and a career in covert operations?"

G. shrugged. "Ten bullets over the years equals lots of recovery time."

Tatyana blushed at the implication. "I suppose it does."

Gibbs chuckled. A wide smile stretched his lips, making the creases around his eyes stand out. "Being undercover and in constant danger is an aphrodisiac for some people."

Callen grinned. "You would know, Gunny. Ah Serbia... good times," he sighed, winking at the older man through the mirror.

Tatyana wondered why Jethro didn't 'head-slap' Callen. He most certainly would've done so to a member of his own team for that remark. The car pulled into the driveway of a massive glass and steel mansion right on the beach. Callen got out and slowly walked around the car to open her door. She knew she had to wait before she stepped out, and so she listened while he spoke into his com-link. "Thanks, Jake. Tell Ronny that if he even _thinks_ about playing peeping Tom I'll gut him." A chill ran through her at the harshness in his voice when he voiced the threat.

Gibbs got out and slammed his door. "Problem?"

"Nope, just a friendly warning to the neighborhood pervert. Seriously, he's harmless, just never got out of puberty. Jake won't let Ronny get out of line. He's got a set of sixteen-year-old twin daughters, so he knows what to do with the Ronny's of this world. I just want the guy to remember what it's like to deal with me. Let's just say Kensi didn't leave me much to work with, but I made an impression."

Tatyana cleared her throat. "Excuse me, gentleman. May I please get out of this car? I'm very close to going stark raving mad."

Callen held the door for her. "Here we are. This is home sweet home for now."

She looked at the massive four story modern mansion and grimaced. "Oh, this is an ugly house. I know Hetty has better taste than this!" she exclaimed in disgust.

Gibbs eyebrow quirked, and he led her into the house. "It's all glass, I wouldn't have picked it as a safe house, but it should be good for your claustrophobia."

Callen armed the security system and turned on the lights. "According to Hetty, the house is built to withstand just about anything. You know earthquakes are a problem here, so the designers used an advanced super-glass. The molecules are aligned in such a way that it moves with the frame of the house, and apparently not many bullets will get through."

Gibbs frowned. "It only takes one."

"That's why Hetty leaked that the house where your team is staying is filming a new reality show," Callen chirped, rolling his eyes at the hilarious look of revulsion that crossed the older man's face. "Only an idiot would try anything with the possibility of being filmed, and according to Miss Romanskia, Brazanlov is everything but stupid."

"No, he most certainly isn't," she whispered. "You had better call me Tatyana, Mr. Callen. Since we are going to be living together, it's utterly ridiculous to be so formal."

"Now that you mention it, it's very distracting when you call me Mr. Callen. Only Hetty calls me that on a regular basis. Why don't you drop the Mr.?"

"I'd be honored." It wasn't an invitation to call him G. but she never expected that to happen, and she appreciated the importance of the gesture.

G. smiled. Even her informality felt formal, just like Hetty's. Then, he heard Jake's voice coming through his earpiece. "Got it, Jake, thanks." He turned to Gibbs. "Your guys and Hetty just got here. According to DiNozzo, moving the trunks is gonna take all of us, but they're stopping at their place first."

Tatyana looked down at the floor, embarrassed. She did _not_ want Jethro and Callen to think of her as high maintenance or spoiled and soft. She'd planned on staying with Hetty, who would think nothing of her choices. "I really have no idea how long I will be here, and I have a tendency to plan for any emergency. I hope this isn't too inconvenient."

Callen shrugged her concerns off. "Hey, that's perfectly reasonable. Go and pick out your bedroom. There are five of them: one on this main floor, three on the third floor, and one on the top floor."

Tatyana's eyes moved around the open floor plan of the great-room, and she felt a chill run through her in the cold surroundings. The entire house consisted of white marble, stainless steel, and glass, even in the interior. She wouldn't entertain the foolish hope that the bedrooms would feel any more welcoming. However, all the daylight would provide a good environment for avoiding the panic attacks that came from her fear of the dark, and the sweeping views would stave off attacks of claustrophobia. "I'll be back soon." She slowly ascended the main staircase with her high heels barely making a sound against the marble steps.

Once she moved out of sight, Callen turned to his old friend. "Okay, here's what I know: she was captured by a very nasty group of Chechnyans, she discovered their leader is here, and she needs our help. She's got some crazy memory thing, she's claustrophobic, and she hates the dark. Now what can you tell me?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Her father was CIA, her mother's family is GCCS, and her paternal grandfather was in the upper levels of the KGB. She's got some training in self-defense, no field experience, but that didn't stop her from taking down a six-foot-two, one-hundred fifty-five pound Chechnyan terrorist with a hat pin. She's not nearly as fragile as she appears right now. She's just a bit overwhelmed. In the morning, she'll be fine."

"You don't think she'll fall apart?"

"Nope."

Callen stared at the top of the stairs. "It's up to us to keep it that way," he murmured.

"Yep."

"I gotta get something from the car, I'll be right back."

After Callen walked out, Gibbs assessed the ground floor of the home he would live in for the foreseeable future. He hated open floor plans due to the lack of cover if the bad guys ever broke in. He took some comfort in knowing that the location of the house and their backup lowered that risk considerably. He cringed at the mess of paintings, hung on what looked like steel wire to keep them off the glass. The previous owners had apparently preferred modern stuff that looked like people just dumped the paint on the canvas, or decided to do shapes. The sculpture pieces made him queasy, but he could never be considered a so-called 'fine arts' man anyway. None of the furniture in the living room looked comfortable. The couches and chairs sat low to the ground, barely cushioned and covered in black leather. The few tables scattered around on fake zebra skin rugs were metal and glass. He didn't see any lamps, just recessed lighting for general needs and track lighting for highlighting the art. Overall, the living room was not the sort of place a person could do any living, even with the weird freestanding fireplace at the center of the room. Gibbs rolled his eyes when he discovered it ran on electricity.

The living room flowed off into the dining room on the eastern wall, but without a formal separation to make it an actual room, he supposed the technical term would be a dining space. In the center of the space stood a glass table large enough to seat twenty, and the chairs appeared to be made out of some sort of plastic. The furniture rested on yet another fake zebra rug. A very weird spiky chrome chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a black granite sideboard had been built into to the only plaster wall in the room that must connect to the kitchen.

The massive space was set up like a kitchen in a five star restaurant with one glaring exception: everything—floor, cabinets, backsplash, counters—was white. The appliances and the cabinet hardware were all clad in stainless steel. They provided the only contrast in an endless sea of pristine white. The whole space might have resembled the padded room in a mental ward were it not for the walls of glass. They displayed breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean, and a fabulous teak deck. He flipped on the lights to illuminate the outside and let out a long whistle of appreciation. While the interior of the house might end up driving them all crazy, the outdoor living space promised salvation. It held full outdoor gourmet kitchen, bar, and dining space, along with a lounging area with a huge flat screen and sound system. A luxurious hot tub that accommodated at least twenty people stood ready to use, and finally, a massive fire pit placed in the center of the deck would keep the chill at bay.

"Gibbs, where did you go?" Callen called.

"Kitchen."

Callen came into the kitchen holding his aluminum briefcase. "What's the verdict?"

"I agree with Tatyana. This house is terrible, but the deck is safe."

"Did she come down yet?"

"Nope, she's probably using the head." Gibbs nodded his head at the briefcase. "What's that?"

"The life and times of one Miss Tatyana Levovna Romanskia. She said it might help me trust her, if she gave me her life story."

"Smart girl."

The two men heard the door open and immediately drew their weapons. "Boss!" DiNozzo called out. "Don't shoot, McGee and I are bringing in the trunks, and Ziva refuses to help."

"Do not be ridiculous, Tony!" Ziva exclaimed, as she helped McGee pull the final trunk through the foyer. "These trunks are on wheels, and I have pulled one up to the steps and into the house. Do you honestly think that I can carry a fully packed steamer trunk up three flights by myself? I am good, Tony, but not that good. To be so strong, I would have to be like those fake Italian shore men, how do you say... ah yes a juice head."

Tony grunted as he and McGee set the first trunk down. "Hey, that's an idea. How about we call your old flame Werth? He could drag these trunks no problem."

"He is not taking those steroids anymore, Tony!" she hissed. "Besides, I have just received an invitation to his wedding. It is early in the spring."

McGee smiled. "Really! Good for him! Let me know when, and I'll send a gift."

"So, _The Incredible Hulk_ found a mate. I hope she never makes him angry. Then again, maybe she's a body builder and can hold her own. Do you need a date, or are you going stag?"

Ziva smiled and moved very close to Tony. She affectionately ran her hand from his shoulder to his hand and then immediately pressed down on the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger with the familiar _'thumb tap.'_ "Ahhhhhh let me go!" Tony yelled as he dropped to the floor.

Ziva leaned in very close to his ear. "If I were you, I would make sure that you do not make me angry, Tony. Damon is a good man, and extremely gentle with those he loves. I have no doubt that he treats his fiancée with the utmost tenderness and respect. Finally, if I can attend the wedding, and _if_ I needed a date, _you_ would not be whom I would choose! You have never treated him with any kindness. I would not inflict you on the happiest day of his life."

"Okay I'm sorry! Now let me up, you vicious, Ninja!"

Ziva relented, and Tony slowly rose to his feet. Gibbs rolled his eyes watching the antics of his team. Callen kept his face neutral. He had never seen this Ziva, and he couldn't get a good read on DiNozzo. He decided he should re-direct everyone's attention to the here and now. "Ziva, where are Abby and Hetty? I thought you drove with them."

"They should be here in a moment, _Kell-_ I mean, Callen," she felt a hot blush bloom on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Your name will take some getting used to. Abby decided that she couldn't go off _Caf-Pow_ now that we have a case, so we stopped at a gas station and bought an ample supply. They're just putting it away so that it gets chilled."

Then the gentle voice of the woman they'd gathered to protect came floating from the stairwell. "Jethro, Callen, is everything all right down there?"

Gibbs looked up but couldn't see her from his position. Again, he found himself impressed that she'd managed to conceal herself, not an easy feat in a glass house. "Yep."

The group waited through a noticeable pause and then she answered in Romanian. _"I heard a man yell as if he was in pain."_

Gibbs and Callen exchanged a glance. The fact that she didn't automatically assume everything was safe once she heard Gibbs' voice impressed the younger man. Her choice of using Romanian (the only language both he and Hetty were fluent in out of the group) told him a great deal about how she had been trained to protect herself. He also recognized it as a gesture of good faith to him, one he felt he should return, so he trotted up the stairs to meet her. At 2030, the sky had already turned an inky black that threw even a hall of glass and steel into deep shadows. Fortunately, he had excellent night vision, and could easily make out her silhouette in a corner. He knew not to get too close. Being forced to put herself into a dark corner would turn her defenses on high. Considering what she'd already proved herself capable of doing when threatened, he didn't want to aggravate the situation. "It's alright to come down. What you heard was Ziva taking exception to something DiNozzo said."

Tatyana let out a huge, audible breath and stepped forward. In her hand, she held a wicked-looking, three-inch curved switchblade. A type he'd never seen before. "I thought it was, but I wasn't about to risk being wrong, foolish, and dead. I just wish I hadn't packed my gun in my trunk," she quickly sheathed her blade and slipped it behind her belt buckle.

Callen stood on the last step before the landing and held out his hand to her. "Something tells me that you're not a person who tolerates being 'wrong' or 'foolish,' and no healthy person wants to be dead."

Tatyana stared at his offered hand a moment longer than strictly necessary. With everything Brazanlov and his men had done to her- physically, mentally, and emotionally- the pain of transferring her captors' actions onto other men had never become a problem. For whatever reason, her mind accepted that the physical abuse she'd endured had nothing to do with her body. They wanted her under their power, and they had failed miserably. Because of that, she had no major problems interacting with men. However, Callen initiating even this benign physical contact surprised her. She could see that he didn't care for being tactile. At this point, she couldn't think of any reason he would feel the need to offer comfort, if that's what he wanted to do. Despite the questions buzzing around her brain, she remembered her mother always saying to her, _'When in doubt, be gracious, Princess.'_ That advice became her unofficial motto in life, and it had served her well.

"Thank you, Callen," she sighed, gently taking his warm hand in hers.

G. hadn't noticed the strength in her hands when they first met. He'd gotten tunnel vision by the thought of Hetty being targeted by a sniper. Now, he took a moment to study them. They were as delicate as the features of her face. Her fingers were exceptionally long and almost perfectly straight. The contrast between the light gold of his skin and the paleness of hers struck him even in the dim light coming from below. He briefly wondered how she could be so pale without being anemic. As her palms slid over his the softness of her skin took him by surprise. He had expected some slight calluses from typing. The dichotomy of delicate softness, and firm strength intrigued him. He took the first step down and waited for her to follow. "I think I hear Hetty."

She took a step forward, one step above him. "We both know that it's best not to keep Hetty waiting. I hope that there is also some food here. I'm very hungry."

His lips quirked into a crooked grin. "We should fix that. Do you like _In 'N Out _burgers?"

The corners of her lips turned down, and her eyebrows scrunched together. "We don't have those in Europe, but they sound dreadful."

"You shouldn't judge it until you try it," he chided gently. "I'll make sure we get some."

Hetty's voice floated up to them. "Mr. Callen, _Tanechka_, is something wrong?"

His eyes widened, and she stifled a giggle so that she could answer. "No, dearest! Callen was just telling me about American cuisine. We're coming down."

"_You've just landed me in some serious trouble, Tatyana,"_ he whispered in Russian.

A tiny smile touched her lips as she answered in the same language. _"Oh she's harmless!"_

The expression on Callen's face clearly conveyed that he thought her remark bordered on insanity. _"Harmless is the very last word I'd use to describe Hetty."_

Hetty stood at the bottom of the staircase, listening to the pair whisper like naughty children hiding from a scolding parent, and smiled. "_Tanechka_, stop gossiping with Mr. Callen and come get your supper," she called, her voice thick with amusement.

Callen backed down the steps slowly, and Tatyana followed with her hands still in his. When she saw that he would miss a step, she gently squeezed his hands for attention. "Be careful, or else we'll both go down," she warned, switching to English.

He stared at their entwined hands, stunned that he hadn't even realized that he'd never let go. It dawned on him that she trusted him to support her, but it unnerved him that he had put himself in a position where he trusted her to be his guide. A flash of anger at his own carelessness heated his blood, but he reminded himself that she needed him to trust her. He just didn't like the idea of it being easy.

Tatyana stood, waiting for him to decide whether or not to keep going backwards. As she watched the battle between his instincts and his reason rage in his eyes, she knew she could not and should not attempt to push him into trusting her. He had to make his choice himself and build that trust at his own pace. She _would_, however, remind him that they couldn't stand there all night. "I am very hungry, Callen, and we do not want Hetty to come up here and fetch us."

Slowly, his eyes became calm again, and he gave her a tiny smirk. "I usually have better manners than to keep a lady waiting."

She arched a wary eyebrow at him. "You're keeping four ladies waiting right now, and no doubt our food is getting cold."

Callen bowed his head, suitably chastised, and then he let go of her hands, stepping up next to her. "May I escort you to dinner, Miss?" he said while offering her his arm.

She smiled at his old world formality. "You may indeed, sir."

She received his unspoken message as if his mind had whispered it to hers. He wouldn't trust blindly, but would willingly move in the same direction. The two of them walked together, linked arm in arm, toward their common destination, each of them privately thinking that they had made a good start.


	11. Chapter 11

**Bonjour, Namaste, Salaam, and Shalom, Ladies and Gentlemen! Well, he we are again. As always I thank Melbelle310 for her dedication to pushing me forward and improving myself. Please check out her wonderful stories. I don't object to G's. dinner with Miss Joelle, but I do object to Hetty and Sam sending him in blind! **

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><p>When the pair descended, the rich, complex smells of Thai food filled the air. A soft but completely unladylike moan vibrated in her throat, causing her to blush in embarrassment. Her mouth watered and her tummy tightened in anticipation. "It smells as good as my favorite street corner in Bangkok."<p>

Callen's face lit up with a delighted smile, hoping that if Tatyana calmed down, Hetty's worry would lessen. "I should warn you, you'll have to fight me for the crab wantons."

She turned to him with a deadly serious expression on her face. "You might be incredibly charismatic, charming, my protector, have a gorgeous smile—" G. smirked, and pulled his shoulders back further. Tatyana frowned, and her voice turned stern, "but if you think I won't fight you for a fair share, you're gravely mistaken."

"Bring it on!" he challenged, and then a sheepish look broke out on his face. "Do you really think I'm charming, charismatic, and have a gorgeous smile, or did Hetty tell you flattery will get you anywhere?"

She sighed, sensing his mockery. "I don't have many requests for our time together, Callen, but I do have one that is non-negotiable: do _not_ patronize me. You know exactly how attractive you are, and you know how to use it. I know you're doing this as a test, and I accept it. However, I am going to pass your tests, Callen. So be as charming, aggressive, or closed off as you want to be. Just don't be a character; be yourself." He didn't reply, so she let him think about it and went to the table. Hetty and Abby placed many cartons on the huge table, while McGee and Ziva laid out the tableware.

Hetty's sharp hearing picked up the end of Tatyana's gentle demand, causing her to look up briefly from her task and glare at her agent. "Is there something I should know, Mr. Callen?"

He immediately took the spot nearest the crab wantons. "No, Hetty. I'm just giving Tatyana a friendly warning about the crab wantons."

Hetty smirked. "Save your fighting energy for something else, Mr. Callen. I've made sure there is plenty for us all, knowing your fondness for them and Tatyana's rather unfortunate addiction."

The younger woman's face set itself into a deep scowl. "I am not an addict, Hetty!" she objected, her voice sounding like a child's who'd been teased a little too much.

A wry grin twitched on the older woman's lips. "What would you call it when you make them three times a week?"

The younger woman held her head up high, like a queen looking down on a peasant. "I would call myself a fine cook. Now, did you get plenty of dipping sauce?"

"Of course."

Tony emerged from the kitchen with two bottles of _Riesling_. "How is it that the safe houses here are multimillion dollar mansions with primo wine cellars and bars, while in DC they're crappy apartments and shacks?"

Callen sat down and chuckled. "DiNozzo, this isn't a normal situation. Our usual safe houses are mostly renovated former crack houses. Some of them, even I wouldn't live in, and I've lived in just about every hovel known to man."

"Good to know," Tony smirked.

Carter and Gibbs walked into the house after the older man had walked the perimeter. "It sure smells good in here," Carter sighed.

Hetty pointed to a seat. "Join us, Agent Carter. Leroy, sit down. It's time to eat."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and sat down. "I swear I will start calling you Henrietta."

Her eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. "Obviously, you don't remember what happened the last time you tried to call me that."

Before Gibbs could respond, Tatyana interrupted. "Everyone sit down, and I'll serve before it all goes cold. I don't know about the rest of you, but I do not like cold wantons."

Everyone took a seat, and she started scooping heaps of rice and green curry shrimp onto the plates. She added _Som Tum_, the delicious green papaya salad, and three crab wantons to the first plate. Then, she handed the plate to Hetty. "Here you are dearest, it's a little fancier than the last time we were in Bangkok."

"Thank you, _Tanechka_."

She served the table quickly and efficiently, falling back on the rigid etiquette training of her youth and the perfect example of the domestic staff that still attended her mother's family both in England and Ireland. She made sure that each person got what he or she wanted, and silently rejoiced when she saw enough wantons for both her and Callen to each have a double portion. After everyone had his or her food, she served herself, sat down, and said a silent prayer of thanks. Then, she popped a crab wanton in her mouth and enjoyed a moment of pure bliss as the flavors burst in her mouth. When she had savored all she could, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin and turned her attention to Derek Carter. "Agent Carter, I'd like to thank you and your team for today. I'm a fairly good baker, maybe I could make something you all would like."

Derek smiled. He never could resist an intriguing woman, and this one offered to feed him. "Oh, now you don't have to go through all of that trouble. We were just doing our jobs."

Tony scoffed before taking another sip of his wine. "You guys were doing something I suppose."

His face twisted in anger, but before he could respond, Gibbs spoke. "Enough, DiNozzo. When you're done eating hit the wrack, and no more alcohol."

Tony sneered, but he didn't try to argue. Tatyana decided she'd make him some _cannoli_ soon. Turning her attention back to Agent Carter, she smiled. "I know that your team was doing their jobs, Agent Carter, but I do insist."

Carter still wanted nothing more than to ram his fist into the other man's face, but he wisely turned his attention back to free food and a charming woman. "We all like brownies."

"Does anyone have any nut allergies?"

"The only one with allergies is me. I can't have strawberries."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Carter finished his rice and decided to take the bull by the horns. "Okay, you explained why you're here and who wants to kill you, but what does this mean for my investigation? My job is to find out if the group your man made contact with is _Abu Sayyaf _and take them down if they are. We think your man is posing as an arms dealer, but we can't be sure. If this guy isn't an arms dealer, and we can't prove he's a terrorist, then you've got nothing."

Gibbs put down his fork and leaned forward. "So where are you with this case, Carter?"

The younger man sighed, and for the first time, fatigue showed on his face. "Nowhere."

"Big surprise!" Tony murmured.

Gibbs' hard palm made contact with Tony's equally hard head. "Hit the wrack, all of you."

Tony stood up, with Ziva following close behind. "I will make sure he sleeps tonight, Gibbs. It has been days since he's even tried."

Gibbs nodded. "McGee, Abby, go on."

Tim stood slowly, exhaustion finally hitting him all at once; he held out Abby's chair, and she wrapped herself around him. "Come on McGee, let's get to bed. I doubt even a Caf-Pow will keep me standing."

McGee flushed scarlet when Carter gave him a thumbs-up. Gibbs was glaring at him as if he had broken all fifty-one rules at once. "Boss I swear…"

"Go." Gibbs growled.

After his team left, Gibbs turned his attention to Carter. "We had a bad case: six little girls kidnapped, raped and murdered. The youngest was seven, and we were too late to get to her. Tony's taking it hard."

Some of Carter's ire died. He'd worked a few child predator cases, and he knew that they were a special kind of hell. He still resented his ability to do his job being questioned by his peer, but he could hold his temper for now. "Tell me you got the monster and all is forgotten."

"He's gone. Just don't take everything Tony says seriously. He'll be fine in the morning. Now, talk about your case."

Carter sat straight and became all business. "We got a hit when we discovered that a local import/export shop has been making big donations to a suspicious charity. We've been trying to get in and get some solid Intel, but these people are either genuinely in the dark or very good at covering their tracks."

"What kind of imports and exports?" Tatyana asked, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"They import furniture and antiques from all over Southeast Asia, and export artisan furniture from Mexico. This isn't the stuff you'd get at _Pier 1. _This is some valuable stuff. Most of it comes from Thailand, Indonesia, and India. We've been doing surveillance on the place; we even got a warrant to wire the joint. The trouble is that the mystery man's Arabic is so lousy that we can't get an accurate translation."

"So what makes you think this guy is an arms dealer?" Callen asked, trying to sneak a crab wonton off of Hetty's plate. She smacked his hand and he bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

"We know that he's looking export something through them into Southeast Asia. We don't know what, how, or why. My partner Justin says that some of the phrases he uses are common for arms dealers who do business in the Middle East."

Tatyana leaned forward. "Southeast Asia, how much business do they do in Viet Nam?"

Carter's eyes widened slightly. "A lot. Why do you ask?"

A wry expression crossed her face. "There are a lot of places for the monsters of the past to hide if a person knows where to look for them. There are even more places in the world to find the treasures that the monsters guard if they actually exist."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed, and he took a long drink. "Are we looking for treasures or monsters?"

A shadow fell across her dark eyes, bringing out the deep midnight blue hidden inside of them. "I wish I knew, Gibbs, I wish to God I knew. When a person goes looking for treasure, they usually find the monster that guards it. Perhaps if we find the right monsters from the past, we can find the monster we're hunting in the present."

Hetty reached over to take her hand. "Fortunately, _Tanechka,_ this room is full of experts at hunting monsters, past and present."

Tatyana squeezed Hetty's tiny hand gently. "Hunters need rest or the prey can get the better of them. Gibbs has been up more than twenty-four hours, and I've had a long flight. Poor Agent Carter must be ready to drop."

Carter sat up a little straighter. "I'm doing fine."

Hetty smiled. "Indeed you are, Mr. Carter. However, Tatyana is correct. It's time for you and I to go to our homes and for all of us to get a good night's sleep."

"You're the boss, Hetty." Carter stood up and nodded his head to the ladies. "It was a pleasure to assist today, and I look forward to hunting monsters with you." Then he turned to Gibbs. "It's an honor to meet you, Gibbs. It'll be great working with you, and I'll try not to take a swing at DiNozzo while you're here."

Gibbs nodded and shook the younger man's hand. "I appreciate that."

Callen stood up and walked over to his exhausted younger colleague. "Come on, Derek, I'll walk you to the street. Jake has a sniper posted on the roof next door. We wouldn't want Ronny to mistake you for target practice. After all, you did steal his girl."

"Ha, ha, Callen, you think you're so funny. I don't see how Sam has put up with you for almost six years."

"Sam has a better sense of humor, I guess."

When the two younger agents left the house, Hetty and Gibbs began clearing the table. Tatyana immediately bolted out of her chair. "Oh no, I'll do it, you two. I was raised better than that," she insisted, trying to shoo them both away.

Hetty put her hands on her hips and glared at the young woman. "Tatyana Levovna you will put down those plates, go take a shower, and then get into your bed. If you don't think you can sleep, then get your sketch pad and draw all the people that you saw with your trunks."

"But, Hetty…"

"No buts. GO!"

Tatyana broke out in giggles. "The last time you sent me to bed like this I was eight years old. It was exactly like this, and papa was standing behind you with a red dishtowel. He was more afraid of that tone than I was."

Hetty wrapped her arms around her and smiled. "You might not have been properly afraid of my tone, _Tanechka,_ but you did go to bed."

Tatyana returned the hug and kissed Hetty's cheek. "You win, Hetty, just like always," she sighed and scurried to her room.

Callen rejoined two of the people who epitomized family to him. "Well, Ronny's on the roof, and he didn't shoot Derek. Hetty, you've been ordering people to get rest for about three hours now, it's time for you to go home. I don't care which home it is so long as you're tucked into a warm bed within the hour."

"Mr. Callen, have you perhaps forgotten that I am your boss?"

The crooked half grin that she loved so much appeared on his face. "No, Hetty. I haven't forgotten that you're _'rowing the boat'_. Do you want me to walk you to your car?"

"No, Mr. Callen. I'm perfectly capable of seeing myself out. Now, I believe you can handle the rest of the cleaning up, and if I'm not mistaken you have a lot of studying to do tonight."

"Yes, Hetty."

The tiny woman squeezed his hand and turned to Gibbs. "Leroy, you can't just run on coffee. I know you don't need a lot of sleep but please try to get some."

He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Sure, Hetty."

"I will see you all in the morning."

Callen stepped in front of her. "Hey, aren't you going to say goodnight to Tatyana?"

"I already have, Mr. Callen. She's preparing herself for bed. Now please remember to move about quietly when Leroy and Tatyana are asleep. The last thing we need is a repeat of the time you stayed with Mr. Hanna."

Gibbs laughed. "I know what to expect, Hetty."

"Well then, I will see you all at the office bright and early. Leroy, if she should wake up…"

"Hetty, she'll be fine. I know what to do. I used to be great with little girls and bad dreams."

She gave him a brief nod of recognition, and then, in typical Hetty fashion, she seemed to vanish right in front of them. The two men shared a knowing look and continued clearing the mess. Neither of them did the dishes regularly because they relied on disposable tableware or hand food. Still, they completed the task quickly due to organization ingrained by years in the military.

After Gibbs had dried the last dish and put it away, he gently placed both hands on Callen's shoulders. "You healed up well, G."

The corner of Callen's mouth quirked, and he shook his head. "There are days when I'm popping 'grunt-candy' before I even have my morning coffee. Sam is always nagging about me pushing too hard, and my diet. He even told me to try Pilates."

The mental image of G. doing Pilates made the older man chuckle. "He sounds like a good partner."

"He's the best." Simple words, easily said, but he meant them whole-heartedly. "I drive the poor guy nuts. He's pretty mad that you're here and not him. He thinks that if I do something crazy he has to be there."

"I'm not surprised; you're an expert at crazy."

Callen shot him a dirty look. "You know if I get hurt under your watch, Sam won't take it kindly."

Gibbs just smirked. "That's why I have Ziva."

Callen took the briefcase he had been given, set it down on the island, and opened it. "Go to bed, Jethro."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow at the order, but the weight of fatigue that he'd been fighting for weeks had finally caught up to him. He patted G. on the shoulder one more time then headed upstairs. "See you in the morning, G."

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><p>He left G. to unlock the mysteries in his files and walked up the stairs quietly. He noticed little indentations in the white carpet in the hall. They must have come from the trunks, which meant that Tony and McGee must have brought them up before they left. The thought brought a smile to his face. They really were fine men. He was so proud of his kids, even if they were driving him crazy now. At the end of the hall, the door was ajar and light was pouring through. He wasn't sure if she was awake or not, but he wouldn't be able to sleep until he checked on her first.<p>

He kept as quiet as he possibly could just in case she was asleep, but as soon as he was at the door, her soft voice came through. "Come in, Jethro."

He walked into yet another white room. Glass doors that opened onto a balcony along the entire west wall. The views were incredible he could almost understand why people paid the outrageous sums of money for them. There wasn't much in the room aside from a California king-sized bed, two side tables, and a bench at the foot of the bed. Like the rest of the house, the furniture was hard, low, and black. He couldn't imagine where Hetty had procured this place. However, one thing he knew: whoever the previous owners were, they used this house for show and not for living.

Tatyana looked like a little girl tucked in the huge bed, dressed in a pair of navy blue silk pajamas with her hair down in two long braids. On her lap rested a sketchbook and pencils. The sight reminded him so much of Kelly his heart went straight to his throat. "Are your things all here?"

She looked up from her sketch and rolled her neck to loosen her stiffening muscles. "Yes. Tony and Tim were sweet to take my trunks up. A shower helped a lot, and although every other piece of furniture inside of this house is a nightmare; this is a Four Seasons mattress. You'll sleep tonight, trust me."

"You should sleep, you didn't get much on the flight."

"Jethro, if there's one thing that you, Callen, and I have in common it's that none of us needs much sleep to function. I have one more sketch to do. I never saw the men who came for my trunks before. Eric and Tim might have to hack into Scotland Yard's database tomorrow. I've never worked locally before."

The corner of Gibbs mouth twitched in amusement. "Strictly international work then?"

"No. I've done work for domestic agencies before. However, if Brazanlov hired four local thugs to tag my trunks, they wouldn't be on my radar."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs hardly ever acted without thinking. It went contrary to his nature. Therefore, it surprised him when he bent down and kissed her cheek. His voice turned even gruffer than usual. "Don't stay up too late."

The young woman sat very still, trying to decide how she should respond. A man, who in many ways reminded her so much her father, had quickly carved a place for himself in her heart. She knew she would never have a place like Abby or Ziva's in his affections. She didn't need that. Nevertheless, he made her feel safe, something she had almost forgotten how to feel. He took a step back when she grabbed his hand. "Jethro, only two people have ever called me _Tanechka_: Papa, and Hetty. Now, there's only Hetty left. If you want, I'd be very happy if you called me _Tanechka_,too."

"Sweet dreams, _Tanechka_," he whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Namaste one and all! Please forgive me for the tragic delay but Word-processor subscription renewals are terrible for the financially strapped! I blame Microsoft. Unfortunately I cant reassure this won't happen again so all I can do is say, as bad as it might have been waiting so long, imagaine not being able to write a single word! Fortunately, I had my embroidery, and discovered South Korean TV. Thank you South Korea for Uhm Tae-Woong! He is a great comfort. Onward with the story... Take comfort TIVA Fans Z isn't going anywhere. **

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><p>Downstairs, G. Callen stared at the file. His gut twisted with trepidation. Part of him balked at the idea that anyone could just give his or her trust away freely. He didn't have a list of rules that he lived by in the same way Gibbs did, but he did live by one rule: <em>don't give your trust to anyone. Make them earn it<em>. She didn't make him work for her trust, and he couldn't understand what that meant.

She'd placed a letter on top of the file written on thick, smooth vellum parchment, an incredibly expensive paper. He shook his head at the sight of a wax seal. He couldn't remember the last time he'd read a hand-written document where a person used script. Her handwriting demonstrated true penmanship. In addition to premium paper, a wax seal, and Calligraphy, he'd bet a thousand dollars she used an old-fashioned dip fountain pen and custom ink. _'She just gets stranger by the minute,'_ he thought to himself.

His appreciation of the beautiful and the bizarre made him unwilling to risk tearing the paper by breaking the wax seal by hand, so he took out his blade as a makeshift letter opener. He also reminded himself not to make any remarks about Hetty using her own letter opener for a while. Finally finished with his inspection, he hopped up on the bar stool to read it.

_Dear Mr. Callen,_

_I do hope our first meeting left you with a favorable impression of me, and I hope that I also had a good impression of you. I don't write many letters now that my grandfather has passed away, but I've always made a fuss whenever I write something by hand due to my mother's influence. Although, I'll usually do anything to keep an art form from dying out. I suppose I should get down to business. I haven't recorded all of my life; that would be a colossal waste of time, and you wouldn't be interested. I have included the regular highlights one usually expects, as well as some events that I felt were important to give you an idea as to my character. I've also included my medical and psychological files. They should give you a good idea about my Hyperthymesia and my time with Brazanlov's men. You must know what you're getting if circumstance compel us to go into the field together._

_I do have one request: I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Hetty about what you read in my medical file. I went through a great deal of trouble making sure she couldn't get her hands on it. You know Hetty, so you must know that it is nearly impossible to keep anything hidden from her. This is especially true when she wants to know something. I've given her the absolute minimum that I could get away with. She knows about my claustrophobia, my nyctophobia, and that I suffered from agoraphobia for a year. She's also aware that I still suffer from regular night-terrors. I know she's probably inferred a lot more, but she doesn't have proof. I'd like to keep it that way; there are some things that she doesn't need to carry with her. I believe we both know she already carries far too much._

_I look forward to working with you, Mr. Callen. I hope that my little biography won't be tedious, but I'm the first to admit that I'm rather a dull person outside of my unique abilities. _

_Sincerely,_

_Tatyana Levovna Romanskia_

He opened up the file, and the first thing he saw was a snapshot of a woman in a hospital bed cradling a newborn to her breast. A tall man stood over them, looking down with a look of complete joy. The woman's face was perfectly serene as she gazed down at her child; turning the image over, he found a line written in Russian…

_December 7__th__ 1981 0300 your granddaughter! We've decided to call her Tatyana. Mary calls her "little princess," she has an odd shade of red hair. I miss you Papa. _

_Lev_

He gently put the picture to the side and took out a report from a nursery school, dated January 20th 1984. "_Tatyana shows abnormal recall abilities. When she came to her last interview, she mentioned that I was not only repeating certain tests, but I was asking the questions out of order. I asked her what else was different about this visit, and she proceeded to tell me what pictures on my desk were new, what I'd had for lunch, and the fact that I was wearing brand new shoes, because I had a hole in my left one the last time she was here. She also mentioned that I couldn't tie a half-Windsor knot properly. Due to this highly unusual behavior, I find it unadvisable for her admittance into our school. The odds of her integrating well with the other students are negligible because of this and her mixed heritage. She also has a bad habit of speaking Russian when she's uncomfortable. I've advised her parents to seek a program that caters to gifted children and geared towards a more cosmopolitan program."_

Callen grimaced as he finished reading the report. This man, whoever he was, seemed to be a jerk. Still, her powers of memory astounded him. A child capable of such feats at age three could only be capable of even more as an adult, and the thought made him a little nervous. The next papers he pulled out were a summary of her diagnosis of Hyperthymesia from 2006, when the condition was first recognized. It explained exactly what it was and possible psychological effects. As he read, some of his earlier envy faded; he had assumed that her mind was like Nell's. He had met several people with genius IQ's or photographic memories during his years as an intelligence operative. What he read told him a much different story.

Eric had once told him that people mistakenly associate their eyes with cameras. They assume that they see everything around them, but that isn't true. Apparently, there were exceptions to the rule. He thought about all of the memories he lived with. Most of them went from bad to horrific, and he fought every day to forget. On the other hand, he would kill to remember his mother and Amy. _'Would I be willing to live with constant images of my past just to remember who I am?' _His gut twisted when he didn't have an answer.

The next section of her file contained a series of memory games and puzzles put together by her parents to start honing her natural talents and training new abilities. He also found several more rejection letters from nursery schools. Then, he pulled out another picture of Tatyana standing in front of a school in her uniform. She held a big blue umbrella to protect her from the rain. He smiled at the adorable image of a beautiful little girl with pigtails and a smile brighter than the sun. Like the first picture, it had Russian writing on the back.

_September 3__rd__ 1986, the first day of school. She's so beautiful Papa, she makes us all very happy and very proud. Poor Mary wouldn't stop crying. To tell you the truth, neither did I. We are worried the children will tease her about her hair. All our love… Lev_

He picked up the end-of-the-year report and read the summery._ "Tatyana Romanskia is a joy to have in the classroom. She is always obedient, well mannered, and studious in her work. She is an uncommonly bright girl, but she takes care not to call attention to the fact. She has a keen understanding that the children would resent any extra favor she received. She frequently hands in two copies of work, one where she answers the questions perfectly and one where she answers incorrectly. She says the copy of the incorrect answers is for the children to see and the other is for me. She is a very creative child, endlessly fascinated with music and art. In these areas, she doesn't even attempt mediocrity. Her drawings, while imperfect due to her developing fine motor skills, show a profound attachment to her subjects and realism. She will sit for hours until she is satisfied with a drawing, and her biggest critic is always herself. In music, she has a great talent for the piano and a fine voice. She's already won the lead in two of the school plays we've put on this year, and it appears that she is an accomplished dancer as well. I hope that she will continue to foster her talents._

"_The only concern Tatyana has ever given me is her interactions with the other students. She does not like large groups or lots of noise, and the natural chaos and boisterous nature of the schoolroom makes her uncomfortable. She tends to compensate for this by staying alone during recess and singing Russian folk songs to herself. This is not to say she is unfriendly and will not socialize. On the contrary, she is extremely kind, always looking out for any child that may be troubled in any way. She avoids confrontations and enjoys several friendships with students outside of class. Still, she is far more quiet and reserved than is usual for a child of her age. This could be because she was tormented about her hair and her Russian heritage, but I did all I could to stop those attacks. Overall, I have to say I will miss her as a pupil very deeply."_

The words began to swim on the pages, forcing him to remember that he hadn't slept in over thirty hours. He hated drug busts. They usually meant long hours pretending to party and make merry with a bevy of paid female entertainment. The long hours and the despicable company irritated him more than a shootout. He stood, stretching out the kinks in his back, and then fetched his bedroll out of the front hall. He didn't need a bed; his 'cat naps' would be enough for tonight.

He woke up after a good twenty minutes of hard sleep and softly padded back to the kitchen. He noticed the _samovar _on the counter and mentally praised Hetty for the means to make strong tea. He prepared his favorite black tea and opened the file again. The next item was a newspaper obituary dated October 10th 1989...

"_Lady Mary Romanskia (nee Hawkins) died early this morning. Lady Mary was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Abercorn and the great-granddaughter of Thomas Walford, the 8__th__ Duke of Rutland. In 1979, she married Lev Alexievich Romanskia. Their daughter, Miss Tatyana Levovna Romanskia, was born in 1981. Not content with being one of the United Kingdom's most beautiful and wealthy debutants of the aristocracy, she took up a life of government service in addition to being a patron of many charities in Britain and Ireland, as expected of someone in her position. Services for her will be at the family's private Chapel at Baronscourt, and members of the Royal Family will attend."_

Callen looked back at the snapshot of the woman tenderly holding her daughter and the look of unconditional love on her face. He couldn't help but wonder if the same look had been on his mother's face when she first held Amy and him after they were born. He had always felt great empathy toward people who had lost their parents, but again, he found himself filled with envy for the memories she had. She had every minute with her mother, stored away safe for her to re-live at any time, while he fought to remember his mother's face.

Next, he pulled out a clipping of a newspaper picture of Tatyana, her father, and family surrounding them, but it was a very petite lady standing to the right of Mr. Romanskia that caught his eye. She wore a vale over her face but he would recognize that small stature and the distinctive posture anywhere. It was Hetty!

He eagerly picked up the next snapshot and saw it was in front of the _Mariinsky_ Theater in St. Petersburg. In it were Tatyana, her father, Hetty, and a face he had only seen in classified files. He'd thought the name Romanskia sounded vaguely familiar, but he hadn't been able to place it. Alexie Alexandrovich Romanskia, Code Name: **Black Mamba**; to this day, US intelligence agencies almost no information about him. The little scraps found had led the intelligence community to believe he was the top assassin of the KGB. If true, it could lead to the reasons Brazanlov kidnapped Tatyana.

He flipped the picture over and read the inscription. _"__December 22__nd__ 1989... I have finally met you my precious Doushenka. I will never forget our wonderful first day together. Your loving Grandfather."_

Sitting back, he poured himself a glass of hot tea, carefully blowing over the surface to cool it slightly. He noticed a shadow passing over the wall and he turned toward it, his hand near his gun out of instinct. "You're getting creaky in your old age, Jethro."

A soft giggle answered him. "Wrong roommate, Callen."

He went to get another tea glass out of the cabinet and prepared it the way he had seen her drink it in Hetty's office. "Sit down, and help me sift through your life."

She pulled up a stool and took the glass of tea he had made for her. It didn't surprise her at all to find that it was perfect. "You're through with my babyhood now. I hope it wasn't too boring."

He sat down next to her and picked up the snapshot he had been studying again. "Not at all. I didn't like that guy who ran the nursery school, who said you had a 'bad habit' of speaking Russian."

A sweet smile bloomed across her face. "He was such a bloody snob! Mummy hated him, but he was the first person to realize I had something unique. It only took until 2006 to give it a name."

"Your parents didn't notice you had an extraordinary memory? I find that hard to believe."

She took another sip of the perfect tea, and ran her fingers over the image of her parents. "They noticed of course, but I never gave them as many details as I gave to my teachers. Once they realized what I could do, Papa started teaching me. By the time mama died, I could read Tolstoy in a day and recite it in English, Russian, and French. Are you hungry?"

To his surprise, his stomach clenched at the suggestion. "Now that you mention it, I am. Where would Hetty put the bananas?"

"In the paper bag next to the bread box."

"Want one?"

"Yes, thank you." She took the fruit from his hand, peeled it, and took a very dainty bite.

G. peeled his banana, ate it in three bites, and smiled at her shocked expression. "I don't bother with manners when it's after midnight."

"Fair enough, but your stomach won't thank you."

He rolled his eyes. "You sound like Sam. Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course."

He held up the picture and pointed to her grandfather. "Is this who I think it is?"

A part of her wanted to play coy, to ask him 'who do you think it is?' but she knew that was a bad idea. She had promised him to be completely open, and she was a woman of her word. "He is **Black Mamba**,if that's what you mean."

A knot formed in his gut at her answer, but he shrugged it off. "I'm sure this is a story that I'll be very interested to hear if we get the time. Right now, I'm thinking that your family connections might be a place to start here."

She took another small bite of the banana and shook her head. "No, the only reason I survived is because of my 'family connections' as you say. There are monsters in the shadows that would avenge me merely because of my grandfather. After all, he was the unseen hand behind the creation of the _Vympel_."

The color drained out of G.'s face when she said the words. He had gone up against the _Vympel _more than once, and he had the scars to prove it. "You should not be telling me that. It's got to be treason."

"No, I've got clearance to tell you and your team about this from the current head of the unit. He knows about Brazanlov, and while he doesn't know I'm here, I called him before I came and cashed in one of grandfather's favors."

"They operate a lot in Chechnya, and if Brazanlov knows who you are…"

She gently touched his forearm to interrupt, but she didn't let her hand linger. "I know that he had someone in the SVR, it's the only way he could have found me, but whoever it is, he is not a member of the _Vympel_. My grandfather made sure of that before he died."

The pain that flooded her eyes turned them nearly black. As much as he wished he had a memory like hers, he understood that type of pain, and the compassion he held tightly inside became deeply touched. "I didn't get that far yet," he whispered.

She took the photograph out of his hand and brushed her fingers over the faces of her most cherished loved ones. "Believe it or not, you're almost done. The rest of my girlhood is academic records and my Papa's death. After that are the _Sorbonne_, my entrance into the family business, and finally my medical file. There were three assignments that I could get clearance for you to read about, and of course some psych evaluations."

He flinched at the mention of psych reports simply because he hated them on principle. "Fun, fun, fun!"

"They're very useful," she replied with a perfectly serious tone.

"I still don't understand why you did this?"

She tilted her head to the side, her voice still soft and gentle. "You've already earned my trust, Callen. I'm just trying to earn yours; it's as simple as that."

His expression hardened as he stared into her eyes. He rarely met someone who threw him off balance, and he hated it when he did. "You've never even seen me before today, and I don't care how many files you've read, you don't know me."

She tilted her head to make sure he looked straight into her eyes. "You went to Romania to save Hetty. Every psych profile I read told me that you had attachments to nobody, and you, the perfect ghost, you were willing to toss your entire life away to save her. You did it _after_ you discovered that she had been hiding parts of your past from you for years." She paused to finish her banana and the rest of her tea. "After my mother died, Hetty was the person who helped me get through my adolescence. I called her when I had my first period. She answered my questions when my father's 'birds and bees' lecture left me terrified and confused. She taught me how to dress and how to talk to people, and she has always believed in me. You risked everything for her Callen, even though she deceived you. If I had done the same thing for Jethro would I have earned your trust?"

G. sat across from her, his eyes trained on her open, earnest expression. She gave him her reasons the same way a person said two plus two is four, and although she spoke with her heart, she also appealed to his mind. "I suppose it's obvious that trust isn't high on my list of virtues, but you make a very good point."

The corners of her mouth quirked up a tiny fraction, very pleased with the progress so far. "I'll let you get back to your reading. Thank you for the tea."

He stood and offered his hand to help her off the high stool. "It was my pleasure. I hope you get lots of rest. We'll be very busy soon."

"I'll be ready." Then, just like Hetty, she vanished right in front of him.

He sat back down, turning to the file again. The conversation helped him understand whom he was dealing with much better, and his mind felt sharper now that he knew that she didn't want to manipulate him. With only a couple of hours before dawn, he felt the need to hunker down and immerse himself in the case. He poured himself another cup of very strong black tea and let his world melt away. For once, his puttering around wouldn't bother his roommates.

* * *

><p>Tatyana walked noiselessly through the hallway, slowing down when she approached Gibbs' room. Taking advantage of years of ballet and dance classes, she raised herself to the balls of her feet, hoping she would not wake him. As soon as her graceful foot touched the ground, she heard his voice call out to her.<p>

Gibbs lay on the bed reading a newspaper, and he smiled as he looked up. "Why are you up, _Tanechka_?"

She dropped back onto her heels and marched straight into the bedroom with her hands on her hips, a scowl marring her face. "I was quiet, and I didn't even turn on a light. You're good, Jethro, but I don't think you heard me, and I_ know_ you couldn't see anything."

Gibbs' lips curled in a half smile. "Answer the question."

"I couldn't sleep, so I unpacked. When I was done, I was still too jittery, so I went downstairs and Callen was kind enough to share his tea."

"He's still awake?"

She walked to the foot of the bed and sat down. "Yes, he's wading through my life. I think I might have overdone it with the information, but there isn't enough time to do the usual dance before we all trust one another."

He shook his head with a faint smile. "You've got the poor kid spinning in circles. He's not used to people being straightforward with an agenda."

The left corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. "I think I've managed to convince him that I'm not trying to manipulate him into trusting me."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Of course you are! That's how the game is played. We played it on the plane, and now you've got to play it here."

"No," she replied, her voice hard and cold as ice. "I have no reason to try and manipulate anyone here. You asked me your questions, and I answered what I could honestly. If you trust me now, it's because you choose to do so. All I've done with Callen is tell him the truth. I need him to trust me if this OP has any prayer of working, but in the end it's his choice. We should both try to get some more sleep."

Before he could reply, she leapt off the bed and trotted back to her room. Gibbs sighed and put his glasses and newspaper on the side table. He hadn't meant to upset her, but he realized the stress of the day and jet lag had taken their toll. He'd been resisting the urge to phone his team and check in with them all night. He just hoped they were able to sleep.

* * *

><p>Two houses down, in an Italianate villa, sleep refused to come easily for two of the residents. Abby and McGee had quickly commandeered a room with twin beds and fell asleep before they even hit their pillows. Tony had gotten the master bedroom and spent an hour in the massive steam shower before reluctantly climbing into bed. Ziva tried for hours to sleep, but found it impossible. She kept hearing her partner tossing around in his bed or pacing his room. When she heard the shower turn on again, she crept to his room. It wasn't the first time they had dealt with cases with abused children, but she knew he danced on the verge of falling apart as he had when Jenny died.<p>

She hadn't been able to be there for him in person during that terrible time. The infrequent emails they'd shared hadn't been enough to support him. She remembered attempting to force herself to forget his drinking while she lived in Morocco and failing miserably. Thankfully, he had managed to keep his control during that sad time. This time, something dark and ugly slowly continued eating him alive. Despite their constant issues, she would find out even if she had to use every interrogation trick she knew.

After waking up drenched in a cold sweat, Tony took another shower. He felt tremendously grateful for the extra Ohio State t-shirt and boxers. He now knew all the rumors about Henrietta Lange were true. She had prepared for everything, even full wardrobes for all of them. He stopped when he saw Ziva stretched out on the bed. She wore a pair of boxers and an Ohio State t-shirt, only this one wasn't new. He knew that because of the set-in BBQ stain that he had left it at her place once after helping her paint the dining room.

"Aren't you in the wrong room, Zi-va? You claimed the room next door, remember? Actually, we flipped for this one, and I won fair and square.

"You will not sleep, therefore we will talk," she replied, stretching her long legs out.

Tony tried to leer at her with his customary flirtatious manner, but his heart wouldn't reach his eyes. "Gibbs said to hit the wrack. As beautiful as you look on my bed, I don't dare risk his wrath."

She answered with a snort of indignation. "No! You do not get to use Gibbs as an excuse to push me away. We are going to talk about what happened on that case."

Darkness invaded his eyes that would have frightened just about anyone, anyone but her. "We got him! That's all that matters, we got him!"

She shot up off the bed with the speed and grace that made him call her his Ninja. "That is not all that matters, Tony," she hissed. She came right up to his face, so close her breath ghosted over his skin. "I am not letting whatever this dark and evil thing that is inside of you continue to grow. I have made many mistakes letting that happen before, but not this time."

Tony's hands shook and he grabbed her shoulders to stop them. He didn't want to break down; the feelings filling him were not the type he ever wanted to let out. "You tell me I'm pushing you away, well what have you been doing lately?"

The verbal shot hit home, her shoulders tensed up, and her eyes closed. However, she was not about to let him win this time. "Tony, please… you are my partner and my dearest friend. That case hurt me as well; I had been planning to invite you to dinner while Gibbs was here. I never thought we would end up here with him."

Tony didn't even want to think of what might have happened if she had asked him to dinner. He couldn't be sure he would hold himself back now. "It's probably better that we're here."

For just a moment, the look on his face scared her. He fought his feelings so hard, and she desperately wanted to help. "Tony, you can tell me anything. I will be there for you, I promise. But if you cannot talk to me, let me talk to you."

They stood facing each other as seconds ticked by, feeling like decades. He stared at her, into those haunted eyes so full of warmth. Her hair had been washed and had dried into its natural mass of wild curls. She wore his shirt and said she needed to lean on him. A very large part of him wished he could gently push her out of the door, knowing that the walls would come up again. However, he also knew that he would never be able to do it. So he accepted the inevitable. "Fine, you win, Ziva, but I'm lying down. I need to be able to tell Gibbs I got into bed."

Ziva took a deep breath and let it out in relief as Tony got into bed. She didn't give him time to get comfortable before she climbed in after him. He said nothing but raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "Is this Paris, or do you want to role-play as married assassins?"

She looked down between them and sighed. "I'm not under the sheets with you. This is comfort, something we both need desperately." Then she put her head on his shoulder. "I wanted to kill him, and I came closer to doing it than I ever have since I first came here."

Tony tensed up for a minute. He had known it of course; even from the first day they met, he had been able to read her emotions just from the way she moved. He had known she'd been seconds from snapping that piece of scum's neck. Gibbs showing up had been the only thing that stopped her. He hated the guilt he heard in her voice. "I was going to let you," he whispered.

She sat up and looked into his eyes, horrified to see that he meant it. "Tony— do not say that. I am— _I am more than just a killer now_. I am more than what my father raised me to be. I miss him terribly, but I am not what he made me anymore."

His eyes went wide and he pulled her close to his chest. "I know that, Ziva, that wasn't what I was thinking. I was—God, Ziva, Sasha could have been yours."

She gasped at hearing the words fall from his lips. She had been thinking the same thing for days and had woken up twice screaming after dreaming that the child had been hers. Seven-year-old Sasha Hernandez could have been her little girl. She had the same bronze skin, the same wild curly hair, even the same high cheekbones and widow's peak. The differences had been in her eyes, which were hazel with large flecks of dark green, and in her much fuller lips. Two features that the man holding her so close possessed.

She felt her eyes fill with tears and prayed they wouldn't fall. Then she took a deep breath to speak, her voice hollow and soft. "She could have been yours as well."

A harsh, bitter laugh burst from his throat. "Isn't it great that she wasn't? I was too late."

"We were all too late, Tony. She was dead before we got the DNA evidence. It is nobody's fault."

He sat up quickly, knocking her off of his chest. "I was fixated on the step-father!" he growled.

She took his face in her hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. "He was a viable suspect, Tony. You did your job."

He took her hands from his face and held them so tightly her fingers turned white. "Is that what you'd say to me if it was your little girl?"

His anguished words made the tears in her eyes fall. She ignored them and continued to hold his eyes. "Yes! Because if she had been yours or mine, I know you would have done everything humanly possible, just as you did for Sasha and the other girls. I mean that, Tony. I mean it with all of my heart."

It seemed that all of the energy and rage that had built up in DC left him at once, and he fell back on the bed, taking Ziva with him. "When I saw her on Ducky's table, I knew that if I had a shot at him, I'd take it."

Ziva wrapped her arm around his waist. "I know. That is why I got to him first. Tony, will you hold me, just for tonight? I do not think I can face my dreams alone."

He held her closer to him and buried his nose in her hair. "Sleep well, my Ninja."

"Thank you, Tony."

Several minutes later, Tony started squirming. He tried to move his legs, but Ziva's weight on the top sheet made it impossible. He heard a deep moan from her and felt her hold him tighter. He sighed and put his mouth close to her ear. "Sweet Cheeks, you've got to move."

An angry groan erupted from her throat. "No, Tony, you promised."

He tangled his fingers deeper into her hair and gently rubbed her scalp. "I don't want you to leave, but I need to move. Just get under the sheets, I promise I'll hold you."

She opened her eyes, cursing the darkness and the fact that she couldn't see his face. She could only hope that he told her the truth. She scooted off of the bed and Tony immediately rolled on his side and lifted the bedding for her. Between the case they had just come off of and the day they had just endured, she finally gave into exhaustion and fell into the bed.

Tony wrapped his arms around her waist and she tangled her legs with his so that he wouldn't move without disturbing her. "Now sleep, my Hairy Butt. If we are tired tomorrow, Gibbs will kill us both. I will protect you from your dreams," she murmured.

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but every time he closed his eyes, he still saw Sasha lying on Ducky's steel table. Soon, he felt Ziva go completely limp against him and her breathing evened out. He heard her start snoring softly, and he couldn't help but smile. He'd always wondered if she ever let her guard down enough to sleep so soundly with anyone else. He stopped that train of thought immediately, for therein laid the path to madness. They had to be awake tomorrow or head-slaps would be plentiful. Taking one final deep breath, he buried his face in her jasmine-scented hair and pretended they were back in Paris. Eventually, sleep came, and true to her word, Ziva protected him from his dreams.

* * *

><p><strong>Special AN: A lot of reviewers noticed that Tony has been acting strange in the last chapters. Good going! One reviewer asked me if I hated Tony... Well, he's not my favorite and never has been, but his strange behavior was deliberate and I hinted as to why in the first sentence of this story. Now, you all finally have the full explanation. I hope it satisfies.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Bonjour, Namaste, Salaam, Shalom, Anyoung Hashimnikka, Ladies and Gentlemen. Sorry again for the long wait, health problems again. Many, many thanks to Melbelle for her diligent teaching. Just a bit of trivia, if anyone has read my story "The Date" you may recognize my OC's the Hartings'. Mr. Harting's looks are based off of classic movie star, Mr. Tab Hunter. Mrs. Harting, is modeled after Queen Margrethe II of Denmark. Why? Because she's awesome!**

* * *

><p>Kensi Blye pulled onto the beach at 0600 and immediately noticed the small commotion by her partnerboyfriend's car. She could see Deeks pacing angrily while a crime scene tech from the LAPD took fingerprints. An uncontrollable feeling of panic washed over her, and it took every ounce of her discipline and control not to run over and call in the cavalry. Her steps grew slightly heavier, her shoulders a tad straighter, and an imperceptible tightness took up residence in her jaw. "When you called begging me to pick you up I, thought you were using me to get more Yoga bunnies."

Deeks' eyes lit up seeing her. Despite having one of the worst mornings in months, all of his anger washed away seeing the sun glittering off of her caramel skin, and the salty breeze off the ocean blowing her hair. "Hey Princess. Some juvenile delinquents slashed my tires and poured sand into my gas tank. You are my savior," he replied bowing dramatically, his voice tinged with a mockery of despair.

Some of the unbearable tightness that had filled her body slowly began draining out. "We can't fit your board in my car, Deeks."

He ran his hand through his wild curls and smiled. "My buddy Colin agreed to take my board, and I'll pick it up at his place after work." He turned and waved to a tall man in a green wetsuit and black hair. "Thanks, Colin. I'll be by tonight."

The younger man smiled. "Not a problem, Marty. If you can't get it tonight, I'll just bring it with me tomorrow. Try not to get shot."

"Funny!" He turned back to the tech still examining his car. "Charlie, what are the odds that my car will run again?"

The obviously exhausted and tense man looked up and made a disgusted sound. "This thing was a piece of crap before, Deeks. If you want my advice, buy a new car. It will be cheaper than trying to fix this heap."

"Look, man, thanks for helping me out with this. I know you're just coming off your shift. I owe you."

"We're even. Have a good day, Deeks. I'll make sure whoever catches this case gives you a call."

He patted Charlie on the shoulder and then kissed his fingers, tapping them on the car door. "I'm so sorry baby. Daddy will find the punks who did this to you and they will pay."

Kensi rolled her eyes and huffed. "Oh Please! Look, mourn for your crappy car later. We can't be late! If the guys from MCART get there first, your 'playtime' will be seriously curbed," she sighed, trying to dodge a kiss to her cheek.

"Yes dear," he replied, throwing his arm around her shoulders while sauntering to her car.

Kensi let him walk two steps before shoving him off of her. "What do you think you're doing? I'm pissed at you!" she snapped.

Marty Deeks considered himself to be a great liar; a necessity in his line of work. Nevertheless, he tried to be as honest with himself as possible, and he was honest enough to admit he loved danger. He loved the rush it gave him, he loved the challenge it presented, and he loved beating it. To put it bluntly he loved danger: his job, surfing just before a storm hit, annoying Sam, and many other risky endeavors, but the greatest danger he loved in his life, was Kensi, and the biggest thrill involved making her beautiful eyes flash.

"Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? Because, I'm quite certain you slept _very _well." he questioned in an overly sweet tone.

Kensi glared at him, trying to keep her ire up. "The coffee maker broke this morning. Don't make me hurt you before lunch."

"Crap," he spat. "Drive to your favorite coffee place, my treat for my savior."

Kensi leaned forward to start the car, hoping her hair covered the smile that broke out on her face. "Are you sure it was some punks that messed up your car?"

He smiled at the concern in her voice and pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Careful, Kensi. People might think I've turned you sentimental."

She pulled on to the main road, sharply cutting off a group of kids that were also out for the early surf. "I'm not playing, Deeks! How do you know that it was just some kids? Did you see them?"

While Deeks loved danger, he hated seeing his partner hurt or upset more. He never teased her when it mattered. "Ease up on your grip on that steering wheel, Sunshine. You don't want to stop the blood flow to that trigger finger; I depend on it to save my butt. I busted a couple of kids with some weed last month. Those stupid punks weren't going to ruin my favorite spot. Remember? I came into work in a bad mood because I missed some perfect surf that day. I was on my board when the little cretins decided to commit the attempted murder of my baby. However, Shelia (she's a regular here) parked next to me, and she sent me a text. I just called up Charlie so he could get the proof."

An image of a bronzed blond with long legs and ample breasts flashed through her mind, and she grit her teeth as an irrational wave of jealousy made her see red. "How do you know Shelia is reliable?" she sneered.

A huge smile broke out on his face. "Well, since she told me about the kids the first time, I think she'd remember."

Kensi snorted and pulled up to the coffee shop. Once she parked, she held out her hand to him. "Give me your cash, you're staying in the car."

"What? No!" he answered indignant at her words.

Her mismatched eyes flashed at him and narrowed. "I'm not asking, Deeks."

Deeks handed her the money. "I would like a green tea with extra honey, and a cranberry muffin please." She nodded, and he unabashedly reveled in the freedom of being able to legitimately enjoy the way her hips swayed as she walked.

He knew that she still didn't completely believe that delinquents had vandalized his car. Moments like these still drove home the fact that he now lived a life with a new class of bad guys. Where his instincts automatically went to bad guys for profit and the average lowlifes, hers went to international conspiracies and terrorism. Little incidents like this one tended to freak her out. He wished that he had known her partner Dom. She talked about him sometimes when she missed him the most, or when something happened to bring back a specific good memory. From what he knew, Dom had been an innocent, somewhat shy young man, who loved life, and dedicated his future to making a difference in the world. He had made Kensi laugh and relax, something which made Deeks hold him in high esteem. As much as she loved Callen and Sam, Kensi never lost the drive to keep on proving that she was just as strong, tough, and determined as they were.

Deeks' musings stopped when he saw his partner returning. A loud wolf-whistle came from a guy just getting out of his car. He immediately stomped down the urge to pull out his Barrettaand start shooting. Instead, he hopped out of the car and planted a big wet kiss on her cheek while taking their breakfast snacks out of her hands. "Thanks, Babe!"

She rolled her eyes at his alpha-male display but gave him a peck anyway. "They ran out of cranberry muffins, so I got a revolting brown sugar oatmeal bran muffin that you like so much." Her lips curled in total disgust.

After opening the driver's side door for Kensi, he sank own into his own seat. He dug down into the bag and took out two giant cinnamon sugar twists. He laid out a napkin over her lap as they left the parking lot and put her pastries down. "At least I get some nutrients with my treats. Yours are drowning in refined sugar and fat."

Kensi rolled her eyes dramatically. "You know, you're worse than Sam is with Callen! These give me energy, and I have an abnormally fast metabolism. Besides, I'm in great shape. Ask the guy in the parking lot."

He didn't even bother to attempt to mute the low growl that he couldn't quite suppress. "I care about your health and nutrition, not how you look."

She burst out laughing. "Okay what is wrong with you today? On an average day you are annoying, clingy, and tactile. Today you are overdoing it. So come on spill."

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Hey I'm allowed to care. If you think you're in good health because you turn heads then I'll just shut up."

"Why are you being so defensive?" she snapped, wondering what had gotten into him.

"I'm not! Excuse me for being offended when some jerk treats you like nothing but a sex object." he hissed.

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "How many times have you said I need to be in a bikini or a shorter skirt for a cover? You objectify me every single day and like it! Besides, if you haven't noticed, I like it too."

He couldn't help but laugh at the comical expression on her face. "I'm different, _Fern_."

She stopped the car at the red light and turned to look directly in his eyes. "What makes you different?" Her tone was mocking, haughty, and challenging, betraying the fact that she thought this whole conversation was ridiculous.

All of the mirth left his face, his eyes filled with unabashed affection. "I'm different because I know you. I know how amazing you are. I _love you_! When I objectify you, I know you're more than that!"

A horn blared and Kensi reluctantly looked back to the road. "Deeks," she said softly, "you're right."

His heart beat a little faster when she smiled her sweet smile. She had many smiles and he had catalogued them all. Her sweet smile was the rarest one, and when he received it, it became the perfect moment in his day. "Can I have that in writing?"

A loud groan erupted from her, and she reached over and pinched him hard behind his ear. "Shut up, Deeks!"

"OW!" he shouted.

* * *

><p>Tim and Abby woke up at 0615, much earlier than either had expected. Neither of them could fall back asleep after waking up, so Abby insisted he take a shower first. The clothes Hetty had provided perfectly suited them. Tim's changing physique had challenged him to find the right fit. He chose a dark teal dress shirt, the same <em>Armani<em> black leather jacket that Abby had ruined during his radiation scare, and dark relaxed fit jeans. When he looked in the mirror, he wondered if Tony felt this way every day. He knew he looked good, and he didn't feel like a boy borrowing cooler clothes from someone else.

Abby completed one hundred strokes with a hair brush, just as her mother had taught her. Usually, she didn't sleep well after flying, but the exhaustion from the last month knocked her out. She wanted nothing more than to put that horrific case behind her and move on. Of course, this new case had horrors of its own, but nothing hurt more than cases when the victims were children. She finished up when Tim came back into the room, and she saw him through the mirror. "Whoa, Timmy!" she gasped, "You look so hot! You could give Tony a run for his money."

He blushed and looked down at the floor. "Thanks, Abby," he mumbled.

She walked up to him and tilted his chin up. "I wish you could believe just how amazing you are, McGee. You are much more than a genius super-geek, you are handsome, charismatic, and sexy. You shouldn't think that you're not."

He wrapped his arms around her in a hug and kissed her cheek. "You're very sweet, Abby. Did you know that?"

She hugged him back tightly, then let go. "We both know that's not true."

He shook his head. "I know no such thing. Why don't you wear your hair down? You won't be in a lab that you need to keep pristine."

"You always have liked it better down," she replied with a sly smile.

"I still say you wouldn't get nearly so many migraines if you stopped pulling it so tight." His _Smartphone_ chirped, and he got it off of the dresser. "It's a text from Eric. He's going to pick up Nell at the mechanic's and wants us to meet them at a place for breakfast."

"What time?"

"0700."

Abby smiled brightly. "Tell him yes! Hetty made sure that we have two cars, that way we don't have to wake Tony and Ziva."

"We should tell them we're going, Abby."

Her smile vanished for a moment. "They need more sleep, McGee. They're both still freaked out about Sasha."

A dark shadow crossed McGee's green eyes. "Do you remember when we used that software to see what their kids would look like?"

She shuddered. "Yeah, that poor little girl was like a doppelganger. It was creepy in a very bad way."

"Do you think they've talked about it?"

"I'd bet they've talked around it, or they will talk around it. When have they ever had a conversation about feelings without running around in circles?"

"Good point."

"Text Eric back and say we'll meet him. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"Okay I'll get our things together and put them in the car. Eric's already programmed the cars' GPS systems to get to the office so I'll let Tony know when I leave the note."

"Put the note on the coffee maker, that way they'll see it."

"Got it."

While McGee set things up with Eric and took care of the essentials, Abby sped through her morning routine. Hetty had stocked up on clothes for her even though her arrival in LA was not quite as unexpected, just sooner than planned. She'd had the chance to pack one suitcase. However, Abby Sciuto did not look a gift horse in the mouth. After her kidnapping, she had kept in touch with the entire OSP team but had grown particularly close to their tiny leader.

She found it a particular pleasure to talk about clothes and other girlie things. Hetty's background turned such conversations into the puzzles that made up how people present themselves to the world. She looked forward to seeing how Hetty perceived her through the clothes she had chosen. Obviously, she saw McGee the way he deserved. She put on a shower cap and took a quick shower. When she was clean, she used her dry shampoo to clean her hair and combed it out. The weather had made it revert into its natural curly state, but she found that she didn't want to attempt to tame it. Instead, she clipped the sides back out of her face with a pair of crystal bat berets McGee had bought her years ago. She went lighter with her makeup; she just needed her spring pink lips and mascara.

Once the usual grooming was finished, she went to the closet to pick her clothes. The first thing that caught her eye was a pair of deep magenta platform pumps with black and silver studs in a rose pattern. She quickly grabbed them with glee. Then, she saw a thin sweater in the same shade, embroidered with black roses along the sleeves and scooped neckline. She took it out and went to her suitcase. She found her favorite black miniskirt with the distressed hem and the safety pin details, and her outfit was complete. She dressed quickly and planned what she would say when she begged Hetty to let her keep the shoes.

McGee had confirmed the plans with Eric and left two notes for Tony and Ziva in places where one of them would most likely find them. He put his laptop and assorted gadgets in the car, and programmed the GPS with the restaurant's address. He briefly considered calling Gibbs to let him know where he was, but decided not to risk waking him up just in case he was still sleeping. He just needed Abby, so he went back to their room and knocked on the door. "Abby are you ready to go?"

"Come in, Tim. I'm decent, not that it matters with you."

McGee walked in as she was spritzing on her custom Magnolia and Mint perfume that she blended herself. "We should get going. The directions Eric gave me are supposed to avoid hitting traffic, but this is LA."

She smiled and handed him one of her dog collar necklaces to help her put on. This one was a thick oxidized silver chain that she hung various charms on. "Just help me with this then we'll go."

He gently moved he silky hair off her neck, forcing his fingers not to tangle into her curls. It had always driven her crazy when he did that, claiming it caused knots. It surprised him that she had listened and left it down. He knew he shouldn't try to guess her reasons for doing it. That led to an agonizing game of 'what if' that led nowhere. He fastened the chain and made a mental note to look for another charm for it.

"There you are. Let's go, I'm starved," he said softly.

"I'm ready. How do I look?" she, asked twirling around.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. "You look beautiful. That's a new top and new shoes right?"

She grabbed her purse, took him by the hand, and started leading him out. "Hetty's using us for dress up dolls. I like it, and she has got to let me keep these shoes!"

They quietly left the house taking care not to wake their housemates. Their car was a _Lotus Elite Hybrid_ convertible. McGee opened the door for her. "I can't believe we have this car!"

Abby buckled her seatbelt and sighed. "When I think of the lab equipment I could get with the money this car is worth I just want to cry."

He started the car and squeezed her hand in sympathy. "I can understand that, but it is vital that the OSP has anything it needs for the agents to maintain their covers. It's literally life or death for the agents."

She let go of his hand so he could make the turn. "Oh, I know that, McGee! I don't begrudge anything the OSP needs. I mean they found me and saved me, almost as well as Gibbs, you, Tony, and Ziva have saved me, and trust me, G. Callen courts death often enough without the worry that his cover will be blown over a car. I have a problem with the fact that we don't get the same treatment."

"I agree with that, I'd love to have some of the toys, Eric gets to play with." Then he shrugged. "At least we have MTAC."

Abby pursed her lips together as if she tasted something sour. "_You_ have MTAC, McGee."

* * *

><p>Eric held open the door to his favorite breakfast place and smiled as Nell brushed past him. The same couple had run the tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant for over fifty years, and they served the best <em>Huevos Rancheros <em>in town. "Tim and Abby should be here in ten minutes."

Nell breathed in the smells of cumin, coriander, Mexican oregano, and chilies. "Oh, Eric, this place is incredible!" She began to bounce happily on the balls of her feet. Then, her eyes narrowed at him. "How could you not tell me about it?"

An evil grin broke out over his face. "Can't a man have a few secrets that don't involve National Security, Nell?"

She stepped deep into his personal space and looked up into his eyes. "I thought that partners didn't have secrets."

"Tell that to Callen and Sam," he winked.

A beautiful elderly woman in her seventies, who moved as if she was decades younger, came out from the kitchens. She stood six feet tall, with snowy white hair, cornflower blue eyes, and a sunny smile accented with scarlet red lips. She wore a pair of turquoise slacks, a bright yellow blouse, and a pair of sandals with three-inch heels. "Eric! How is my boy this morning?" she exclaimed, giving him a huge hug. Then, she turned to Nell and gave her one. "You must be Nell. I've heard so much about you. I kept telling this boy to bring you in, but I was beginning to think he made you up out of his dreams."

Eric stared in horror as Nell turned bright pink while she instinctively returned the embrace. "Good morning, Mrs. Harting. Yes, this is Nell Jones," he sputtered. "Nell, this is Mrs. Harting she's been a good friend since I was a kid."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harting," she stammered when the older lady finally let her go.

"I'm sorry, dear. You'll get used to me. Please call me Ellen. I've been trying to get Eric to stop calling me Mrs. Harting since he was twelve years old," she chuckled, ruffling his golden curls.

Nell suppressed a giggle at seeing Eric absolutely mortified by the welcome she had received. "Eric is one of the most exceptionally polite people I know, Ellen. I wish I could say that I've heard so much about you as well, but unfortunately I can't," she dramatically sighed.

Ellen dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Eric keeps so much to himself, he always has. It doesn't matter, we know each other now. Technically we don't open until 9:00am, but Eric is always welcome, and so are his friends. If you ever want to have breakfast before work, you just come in, and Karl and I will take care of you."

"Thank you, Ellen," Nell murmured, a hot blush staining her cheeks.

Eric started fidgeting and broke in. "Mrs. Harting, I have two friends from DC meeting us here any minute now. I hope Mr. Harting doesn't mind cooking for four this morning."

She turned around and stroked his cheek affectionately. "You know he doesn't. Go find a table and we'll take care of everything. Are there any dietary restrictions we need to know about?"

"No, Mrs. Harting," he assured.

"All right sweetheart, let me get back there with my Honey, and we'll make you a wonderful breakfast," Ellen chirped.

Eric guided Nell to a table with his hand resting on the small of her back. She smiled when he pulled out a chair for her and held it still for her. She counted herself so fortunate to have men in her life that still practiced courtesy out of genuine respect. "Thank you, kind sir."

He flopped down in the chair next to her. "You are very welcome, Miss Jones."

She tilted her head to the side the way she always did when she was trying to figure something out, her bright eyes studying him closely. "Okay, what's the story with you, the Hartings, and this restaurant?

Eric reached out for a napkin and began twisting it around in his fingers. He kept staring at his hands for a few moments before looking back at her. "What makes you think there is a story?"

Nell blinked, trying to figure out why Eric would want to avoid answering her question. Considering the welcome she received, the Hartings were a major part of his life, and he never withheld anything about himself if she asked. Had she misunderstood just how much he cared for her? Was he embarrassed that Mrs. Harting was treating her like his girlfriend, and too polite to protest too much?

Confused and worried, she crossed her arms across her chest. "Are you kidding me? Ellen welcomed me here as if I was the most important person in your life. I'm still trying to come up with a reason you would keep this place a secret so it's pretty obvious that there is a story here."

He stared at the now shredded napkin on the table and took a deep breath. "It isn't something I like to talk about," he whispered.

She flinched when she heard the pain in his voice, and she grabbed his hands in hers. The impatience left her voice, leaving it gentle and warm. "I'm not going to try and force you to tell me, Eric. I don't like to see you upset; it throws my day all out of whack. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything and I'll be there for you. I promise, _partner_."

He paused to bask in the moment, full of the warmth and affection of true friendship. "I suppose partners shouldn't have secrets about the truly important things," he stammered.

She squeezed his hands. "I agree."

The sun shined through the window behind Nell, making her hair glow as if she had a halo, like in a Renaissance painting. Her prettiness never failed to take his breath away. There were times in OPS when he had to force himself to look at his screens if she was nearby. He took a deep breath and hoped she couldn't hear his heart pounding. "I met Christian Harting the first day of the 3rd grade, and we were best friends from that day on."

Nell, who had seen some of Eric's family photos, smiled, imagining a nervous, hyperactive little boy with thick round glasses. "I'm assuming he's Ellen and Karl's grandson."

His throat tightened a little whenever he thought about Chris, and his voice became slightly raspy. "Yeah. The day we met, I was bait for every bully in the school. Between my glasses, my braces, and my brain, I didn't stand a chance. It was four against one on the playground when all of the sudden, Chris came out of nowhere. He took out the biggest kid right away and that scared off the rest. He was everything I wasn't: brave, tough, strong. He was like _Superman_. After school, he looked up where I lived in the phone book and rode his bike over. After that, we were very rarely separated. He used to bring me with him when he'd spend the weekends with his grandparents."

"That's wonderful!"

"It was. In 5th grade, a drunk driver killed his parents, and Ellen and Karl moved into their house to take care of Chris. Karl taught us how to surf; we camped on the beach almost every weekend in high school. I was hopeless with girls, and, Chris had them falling at his feet, but he never dated anyone that didn't want me around." He felt his eyes start to burn, so he took off his glasses to rub them, hoping to cut off any tears. "God I miss him. He would have loved you, Nell."

Nell's bottom lip started to quiver, and her eyes filled with tears. She hated to see Eric hurting. She wanted to tear the pain out of him with her bare hands. "Eric, we don't have to keep talking right now."

He tore at the shredded napkin again. "No, you should hear the rest; it never gets any easier to say. He died in Kandahar in 2008. Hetty and Callen showed up at his funeral and stayed in the background for me. I've learned that Hetty knows everything, but I have no clue how Callen knew about Chris. Anyway, I'd promised Chris that if anything ever happened to him, I'd look after Ellen and Karl. Around the time of Callen's shooting, a disgruntled employee burned down their restaurant in Venice. When we moved to the Mission, I found this place for them. I like being there for them 24-7."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "You're amazing. Thank you for telling me that," she whispered into his ear.

He wanted to hold her closer just for a moment, but the table was in the way. "I owe them for so many things. I'm just keeping a promise. Thanks for listening, Nell. I don't really like to talk about it, but I'm glad I told you."

The door opened, and they broke apart, seeing Abby and McGee walk in. Eric stood up, and Abby gave him a hug. "Good morning, Eric! This place smells amazing; I wonder why Mexican places don't smell this good back home."

Tim came up behind her and pulled out a chair for her. "It's probably because we're close to the boarder, and the restaurant can import fresh ingredients."

Abby rolled her eyes and sat next to Nell. "I suppose that would do it. Thanks, McGee. She saw the demolished napkin on the table, and a confused expression settled on her face. "Is it National Shred the Napkins day?"

Eric chuckled. "Come on, Abby you know I can't be totally still. Sit down, Tim. Mrs. Harting will be out any second with breakfast."

Tim sat next to Eric. "You come here often, Eric?"

"Just about every morning. If the early tide is good surf, I go catch some waves and then come here. It's only two blocks from work, it's cheap, and it's the best breakfast in town," he replied.

Ellen sprang to the table with a huge tray full of hearty dishes of food followed by a waitress with pitchers of coffee and hot tea and glasses of ice water. "These must be the friends from out-of-town you mentioned." She set the tray down on the table, cleared the shredded napkin, and then turned to her two new guests. "Any friends of Eric's are family here. How do you both know our boy?"

Tim smiled and offered his hand. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Timothy McGee, and this is Abby Sciuto. We all work together; Abby and I work in the DC branch. I came to LA almost four years ago, and that's when I met, Eric."

Abby scooted closer and stuck out her hand. "I met Eric over the computer and came out here for work a little over three years ago. We all keep in touch almost every day."

Ellen smiled warmly and began to pass around the plates. "We almost never get to meet any of Eric's friends, and now I've met three in one morning. Now you all enjoy your food, and if it isn't too much trouble, wait a few minutes after you finish. My husband, the chef, wants to meet you all, but especially _you_, Miss Jones. He's still not quite persuaded that you're not a not a figment of Eric's imagination."

Eric turned as red as a beet, and Nell began to resemble a tomato. "Mrs. Harting, please. I have to work with these people, you know."

The older woman just giggled like a schoolgirl and flicked the back of his ear. "Oh go on and eat. If any of you need any more coffee or tea, just holler."

When she left, Tim and Abby both wore bright smiles. Nell's embarrassment grew worse than when her family met Eric on SKYPE- at least she had the comfort of being thousands of miles away from knowing smiles and humiliating questions. It suddenly dawned on her that she'd just met part of Eric's family. Perhaps they weren't blood, but Eric had taken on the responsibilities Chris had as a grandson. When the full impact of what that could mean hit her, she grabbed the glass of ice water and took a long drink, trying to control the wave of panic that came over her.

Eric watched her fidget, and wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He'd hoped that with Tim and Abby here, Mrs. Harting wouldn't embarrass Nell. He had never hated being wrong more than he did at that very moment. "Nell I'm sorry. This is part of the reason I never told you about this place. Mr. and Mrs. Harting—" he trailed off as his cheeks burned crimson. "I talk about you a lot because we're friends and you're my partner. I pretty much spend more time with you than any other person on the planet. They've always wanted me to find someone and I guess they just jumped to conclusions."

Nell couldn't let him feel bad about this. Despite the instinctive terror she felt at the thought of how quickly her relationship with Eric evolved, she truly liked the sweet lady he loved so much. Learning about his childhood and Chris had touched her. The fact that he had shared some of his greatest joys and deepest pain was well worth everything else. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Its fine, Eric. It will be your turn if you ever meet my mother in person."

The conversation through breakfast was animated as the two teams of tech wizards exchanged stories of their triumphs and particularly weird cases. There was a lot of good-natured boasting on both sides, but neither could convince the other which leader was more terrifying. Lots of hearty laughter filled the still-empty restaurant, eventually drawing out the chef. A man, standing six-foot three-inches tall, approached the table with long, energetic strides. His bright yellow and green Hawaiian shirt emphasized sparkling blue eyes, which told the story of a life well-lived. His leathery skin had been deeply bronzed by decades spent on the ocean under the California sun. Although approaching eighty-three, he'd not only retained his youthful energy, but his handsome chiseled features and sharp jaw-line.

He came up to the table and patted Eric on the back. "Well, sonny boy you weren't on the waves today I was worried."

Eric shot to his feet and gave the older man a hug. "Good morning, Mr. Harting. Thank you so much for making breakfast for us. May I introduce you to: Miss Nell Jones, Miss Abby Sciuto, and Mr. Timothy McGee. We all work together for the same network. Abby and Tim work out of the DC offices."

Eric sat back down, and the others stood to shake Karl's hand. "I'm so glad to meet you all. If Eric hasn't told you yet, your money is no good here. Was the food to everyone's liking?"

Nell nodded her head enthusiastically. "These might be the best black beans I've ever had outside of Brazil."

Karl beamed with pride at her compliment. "Sonny boy, I owe you an apology. I thought you had made up this young lady from those computer games you play so much. I was very clearly mistaken. You couldn't possibly exaggerate enough to describe this lovely young lady."

Eric was certain all of his blood had taken up permanent residence in his face. He prayed Tim and Abby wouldn't make fun of him in front of their team. Gibbs frightened him, and he didn't know DiNozzo or Ziva David at all. Hetty and the others on his own team would likely find out about this morning, and he would spend years living it down. He had been so careful not to rush things. He didn't want her to feel rushed or pressured for anything she wasn't ready for. He couldn't lose her before they even had a chance to get started. He wouldn't even consider the possibility of Nell getting sick of this and never speaking to him again, after she finished hurting him.

He nearly cheered when he heard Hetty's ring tone blaring from his cell phone. "Excuse me, I have to take this call." He said quickly, and bolted out the door. "Yes, Hetty I'm here."

"_Mr. Beale, forgive me for interrupting your breakfast plans, but I am in need of your assistance."_

"Hetty, right now I could kiss you!"

"_That won't be necessary, but I appreciate the thought. It seems that Ty is having trouble with setting Miss Romanskia's personal computer system up in OPS. Could you please come and give it your special touch before she arrives?"_

"Of course, Hetty. Just let me give Nell my keys. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"_Thank you, Mr. Beale."_

Eric went back into the restaurant and sat back down next to Nell. "Hetty needs me a little earlier than expected. Nell, there's no need for you, Tim, and Abby to rush. Take my keys, and I'll walk. Mr. Harting, thanks again for breakfast. I'll probably see you out on the waves tomorrow. If I can, I'll stop by for lunch."

Karl smiled, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "You work too hard, sonny boy."

Eric rolled his eyes at the often-repeated admonishment. "It's the price of having exceptional skills."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The orange glow of the morning sun rising over the Pacific Ocean woke Tatyana at 0630. She had spent most of her time in bed tossing and turning. While she hadn't gotten much sleep, she knew that coffee and a good breakfast would give her enough energy to get through the day. She didn't hear the men up and about yet and smiled; she wanted to get breakfast made before they could protest. She dressed quickly, choosing a deep purple skirt, a black leather belt with an ornate buckle, a cream cashmere sweater, a pair of black pumps, and a pair of amethyst earrings. Her hair was quickly brushed and coiled into a bun, her makeup applied, and her weapons concealed. After being caught off guard on her flight she couldn't take any chances. She grabbed an old flannel shirt of her father's and headed to the kitchen.

As she came down the steps, she noticed that Callen had moved his bedroll out of the living room. She hoped that meant he had decided to get a proper night's rest in a bed. When she opened the refrigerator, she found eggs, ground pork, mushrooms and back bacon. She smiled and made a note to thank Hetty for all the ingredients needed for a good English breakfast. Vine ripe tomatoes sat in a basket by the sink, and she grabbed two of them. She opened the pantry, delighted to discover just about every spice she could possibly think of, ready and waiting for use. She even found a small coffee grinder available to grind whole spices. She took what she needed for homemade breakfast sausage and went to the stovetop.

An hour later the sounds and smells of sizzling meat permeated the air. They pulled Leroy Jethro Gibbs out of sleep and back into the waking world. The first thing he reached for was his cell phone. He pressed number one, and waited for Tony to answer. After three rings he growled with impatience; finally a long moan reverberated into his ear. "DiNozzo, wake up!" Gibbs barked.

Tony bolted up in bed, nearly knocking Ziva off in the process. "Yeah, Boss, I'm awake sort of."

"Well get awake and listen. I want the entire team at the Mission by 0830. Have McGee use his techno-thingies to find a rout that doesn't put you in traffic."

Ziva sat up pushing her hair out of her face. She studied her partner's face closely in the morning light, looking for any trace of the darkness he had been living with for weeks. A crease formed between her eyebrows when she saw his eyes shut. She resisted the urge to poke at him; Gibbs did not need to know of their sleeping arrangements. They might not be breaking Rule 12, but they both knew better not to tempt the wrath of a jet-lagged Gibbs.

"Yeah Boss, we'll be there on time," Tony responded, "Yep, I am getting out of bed this very second." He snapped the phone shut quickly and rubbed his eyes trying to get the sleep out of them.

She shook her wild hair and a small, mischievous smile touched her lips. Tony still had his eyes closed, and he moaned. "That smile never means anything good, Da-vid."

Her fingers dove into his hair roughly, scratching his scalp, "You must open your eyes to see my smile."

Tony scrambled out of the bed and landed in a heap on the floor. "Not the hair Ziva!" he shouted.

She threw her head back and laughed; the light hit her skin, making her glow like a bronzed goddess. Her dark hair and eyes shone, and for the first time since they went to the location of the first little girl, Tony stopped seeing their broken bodies. Ziva looked at her partner on the floor and felt the familiar heat crawl up her spine when he focused on her.

"Get up. If we are late, Gibbs is sure to slap us both," she mumbled.

Tony didn't move or avert his eyes and ignored her statement. "Callen's right, you know. You are beautiful."

Her eyes narrowed not in anger but in suspicion. "Tony, I told you nothing romantic ever happened between us. I will admit I found him attractive, and I let him know it. However, he made it perfectly clear to me that at the time, I was far too young for him to consider even a casual 'toss'. We pretended for my father's sake. You know what my father would have done had he known that Callen was CIA and that he interfered in a Mossad operation to save my life."

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "You mean a casual fling."

"Is there a difference?" she sighed.

He stood up and began stretching out the kinks from his muscles. "There is, but we don't have time for an English lesson. You're all grown up now, not that you ever were a child. I think the guy's an idiot. Any man is who would pass you up."

She got up off the bed and ran her fingers through her hair, wincing when she encountered a tangle. "Would you include yourself in that category?"

The bright goofy smile that so defined Tony DiNozzo appeared, and her heart lifted at the sight. "The jury's still out on that my Ninja. What is certain is that we don't have any more time to waste. Move it, Sweet Cheeks, I'm not getting a concussion for you this morning. I still have jet lag."

She couldn't help but smile back. "I will make coffee and food, you get dressed."

Tony took off his shirt. "Don't wake the kiddies, I want to do that." he called after her.

When Callen came down the stairs, his mouth watered. The smells coming from the kitchen were as potent as a Siren's song pulling him in. A huge smile broke out on his face when he saw Tatyana standing at the stove, placing bacon on the griddle, an old flannel men's shirt worn over her clothes in place of an apron. "Wow! What is all this?"

She took an egg, cracked it into a ladle, and gently set it in a pot of simmering water. "Good morning, Callen. How do you like your eggs?"

He shrugged. "Don't go through any trouble for me. I'll eat anything."

She turned over the bacon and checked the sausage patties. "That doesn't answer my question. You should probably make the coffee. I've never attempted using American coffee maker, let alone making coffee acceptable to a Marine."

"Sure." He went to the coffee machine and opened the cupboard. "Where is the coffee?"

Tatyana went into the pantry and got out the grinder used for coffee and a bag of premium dark roasted whole beans. "Here you are. Now, please answer my question."

The loud whiz of the coffee grinder filled the room. Tatyana turned back to the tomatoes and mushrooms she had put on the griddle while Callen carefully measured lethal amounts of coffee grounds into the machine. He filled the carafe one third of the way up with water and added it, then turned the coffee maker on on. "There you are: one pot of coffee guaranteed to stand up to any Jarhead. By the way, I did answer your question. I'll eat anything."

"I'd believe him, he has and he will," Gibbs said as he walked into the kitchen. "It all smells good."

Tatyana flipped a tomato and fished out two perfectly poached eggs. "A girl must eat, Jethro." She turned to Callen. "Callen, I didn't ask you what you would eat. I asked you how you liked your eggs prepared. I don't care if you'd eat them raw. I want to know how you _enjoy_ them! Is that clear enough for you?"

Callen's eyes widened; she took his breakfast preferences very seriously. "I like my eggs sunny side up." he answered softly.

"Do you like the yolks runny or hard?" she demanded.

"I like them runny," he answered quickly.

Tatyana turned to Gibbs and said a silent prayer begging that he wouldn't be difficult. "How would you like your eggs?"

Gibbs just smiled. "Fried and dry, please, with extra pepper."

She quickly removed all of the breakfast meat and vegetables off the griddle onto a serving platter and covered it with tin foil. Then, she cracked four eggs and put four pieces of twelve grain bread on to toast. "If one of you would be so kind to get some plates, glasses, mugs, and cutlery, we can eat at the island."

Callen quickly got the mugs and coffee set up while Gibbs handled the rest. The older man began setting the utensils out then stopped. "What about placemats?"

Tatyana chuckled. "You don't strike me as the type to care about those things."

"I'm not, but you are," he stated.

A shadow of the glare she had given Callen directed itself at the older man. "Placemats protect surfaces from getting burned by hot plates. These counters are quartz, and just about indestructible. We don't need placemats. We do need napkins. They're kept in the second drawer to the right of the refrigerator."

Gibbs followed her instructions and set the places. Tatyana put the eggs and toast on another serving dish while Callen served the coffee. Once the platters were set out, she grabbed an assortment of preserves out of the pantry and the cream and juice out of the refrigerator. Finally, she took her flannel shirt off, hung it on the barstool, and sat down. "Help yourselves gentlemen, it's too good to get cold," she ordered with a blinding smile.

They didn't need any further encouragement and came just to the edge of bad manners diving into the food. In moments, they had plates piled high with eggs, meat, tomatoes, and mushrooms. Callen bit into a sausage patty and had to stop himself from drooling all over himself from the succulent flavors bursting in his mouth. Gibbs also savored his breakfast, washing the food down with a big gulp of scalding hot coffee.

Tatyana bowed her head for a prayer and then started on her breakfast. She put a slice of toast on her plate, added a tomato, a sausage, some bacon, and a poached egg on top. Then, she put the mushrooms all around her little tower of food. The moment she cut into the egg, the rich golden yolk oozed downward, bathing the meal in its silky deliciousness. With her meal cut into proper bite-sized pieces, she savored the quiet morning and delicious flavors.

She carefully poured herself her first cup of Marine-strength coffee, adding an extra splash of cream. The mug still gave off an enormous amount of heat, so she blew on the liquid to cool it further. When the liquid filled her mouth, the strength of the brew nearly overwhelmed her. The bitterness made her eyes water as the heavy liquid scorched down her throat.

She swallowed and shook her head trying to clear her mind. "That isn't coffee, _that_ is bloody battery acid!" she exclaimed, running to get a glass of milk.

G. and Jethro laughed loud and hard until they nearly gasped for air. "How you don't have a stomach full of ulcers must be a medical mystery Jethro," she remarked once the laughter had died down.

A cheeky smile graced Callen's face. "Are you kidding? Gibbs lives by his gut. It wouldn't dare betray him by developing ulcers."

Gibbs poured himself another huge cup of coffee and nearly burst out laughing again when Tatyana's eyes widened in horror. "Do I here sarcasm there, G.?"

The younger man's smile became even more mischievous. "I don't know, Gibbs. I mean, Ducky keeps me relatively appraised of your health, but he might not know if your hearing is going."

"Watch it, G."

Callen smiled like an innocent angel. "I'm Hetty's favorite, she'll protect me."

Now that the men had nearly finished their meal and had their laugh at her expense, Tatyana decided it was time to focus. "I hope you gentlemen got a proper rest last night. We'll be very busy today, I drew the portraits of the men that handled my trunks. Hopefully, between four computer wizards, we can find them."

G. finished the last piece of sausage and took a sip of coffee. His face became serious again all traces of mirth gone. "From what I read last night, Brazanlov probably killed them before you left London."

"I have no doubt that he did." she replied. "I'm just hoping we can find out who they were so that it might give us something to track the mole who sold me out."

Gibbs frowned. "You don't sound too confident."

"I'm not," she sighed. She picked up her dirty dishes and brought them to the sink. "The day I got out of the hospital I started investigating." She turned and faced both men, who now gathered their plates. Her face was a picture of agonized frustration. "Do you know what they call me?"

"Who are _they_?" Gibbs asked.

A tiny, bitter smile graced her lips. "You know, the proverbial _'they'_. The shadowy powers that be, the people in many governments that want my mind, the people who decide who gets me and when. _'They'_ call me the Vatican Secret Archives."

Callen sounded a long whistle. "Go big or go home. From what I read, you're more like the entire Vatican Library, with The Library of Congress thrown in."

"Isn't it funny? Four years, and I can't even find a mole in the SVR. So much for my Secret Archives." Then, she tapped the side of her head. Then she started to clean the stove and griddle.

Gibbs put his dishes in the sink and came up beside her. "Hey, you've got help now."

"I know," she whispered.

"G. and I will finish up here. You go get whatever else you need."

"I'm ready. I just need my handbag and my laptop."

Gibbs nodded. "Go get them." She left the kitchen, and he turned to Callen. "You load the dishwasher; I'll clean the griddle and the pot."

"You think I don't know how to wash a copper pot!" The younger man snorted.

"Do you?" Gibbs chuckled.

A smug smile spread over Callen's face. "I spent six months under cover at _The Ivy_ as a dishwasher."

Once again, they completed the work quickly. Tatyana brushed her teeth and came back with her things. "I think you both should know what kind of weapons I carry."

G. finished drying the pot and put it away. "You're carrying two blades, a scalpel in your right garter and a custom knife behind your belt buckle. I think you might be the only woman in LA who actually wears garters for their primary function," he added with a smile.

She smiled back. "Were you searching my drawers when I was asleep, Callen? You could have just asked me."

His eyebrows rose up to his hairline. He wasn't sure what she meant by that. Was she teasing? Was she serious, and trying to earn his trust more quickly? Was she flirting? He just couldn't be sure. He had a feeling she might not even know why she said it. "Maybe I will. What would you say?"

She shrugged. "It would depend on why you were asking. Anyway, you haven't asked me about my gun."

"Let's see it." Gibbs ordered.

She opened her handbag, pulled out a PSS pistol, and carefully handed it to Callen. "I was given this on the day we buried my father. I never carried it on me until after—" even after four years, she hated saying it. "Well, in any case, I do know how to use it. I couldn't get clearance to carry it on the flight, so I packed it in my trunk."

G. had seen PSS pistols over the course of his career, but they were rare. Only the most elite of the elite of Russian Special Forces issued these pistols. They were virtually silent, perfect for assassins. "This has been modified, the magazine is different. May I take a look?"

"It holds ten rounds instead of six. Grandfather wanted me to have more shots than the others. Other than that, it's a standard PSS."

Gibbs poured the last cup of coffee into a thermos. "Let's go. Do you think you can get us to the office by 0830, G.?"

Callen sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure Jethro, I'll just tell Hetty to sign me up for Traffic School again."

Tatyana put her gun back in her handbag and grabbed her laptop. "That doesn't sound very nice."

"It's not," he replied with a cheeky smile.

The three walked to the car, and she paused. "Do I have to sit in the back again? It's a bit cramped, you know."

Callen opened the passenger seat with a grin. "You can sit up front with me. If I get a ticket, you can work some magic with Hetty to make sure I stay out of Traffic School. Do we have a deal?"

A bright smile lit up her face, and she gave him her hand. "It's a deal! You let me sit up front for the rest of my time in LA, and I promise you won't hear the words 'Traffic School.' I give you my word."

"Hey!" Gibbs barked. "_You_ are the protectee. _Tanechka_; you sit in the back of the car." He turned to Callen and glared. "Don't encourage her!"

The younger man nodded his head in the direction of the seat, gesturing for her to get in the front. Once she strapped in, he shut the door and went around to the driver's side. "If you want to get there by 0830, I suggest you get in, Gunny."

Gibbs opened the back door behind Callen, sat down, and slammed the door hard. "Hetty is going to kill you, G."

Callen ignored the remark and started the car. "Okay, here's how we'll deal with the radio; we'll alternate days who gets to choose in the morning and in the evenings. Traffic in LA is a nightmare just about twenty-four hours a day, so if we're stuck somewhere, we alternate every half hour. Is that good with everyone?"

Gibbs said nothing; his piercing eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. Callen had to suppress his laughter at the older man's ire. He'd meant what he said when he told Sam that he had a healthy fear of his old friend, but this wasn't one of those times. After reading her medical files last night and knowing exactly what had happened to her, he didn't want to aggravate her triggers when he didn't have to. Yes, Gibbs would scowl at him for a while, but he'd get over it. Besides, G. had defied Gibbs often over the years.

"That sounds fair," Tatyana said, glancing at Gibbs with a hint of guilt in her eyes.

Callen winked at her. "Ladies first. Jethro can pick on the way back. Knowing him, it will probably be either George Strait or Charley Daniels. Who knows, he might even surprise us with Clint Black. Then again, Jenny got him hooked on U2, so he may surprise me."

"I'll just plug in my iPod if that's okay."

"Go ahead."

She took it out of her handbag and connected the cord to the stereo. She pulled up one of her dozens of playlists and set the volume. George Strait's _Troubadour _flowed through the speakers. She glanced at the mirror and saw Gibbs' face soften slightly. Callen raised both eyebrows in surprise.

A mischievous smile lit up her face. "What? Did you think that only people in the US enjoy Country Music? Keith Urban is Australian, you know."

Callen rolled his eyes. "Actually, I did know that. The reason I'm a little surprised is that I didn't think you were the type of person who would be a George Strait fan."

Tatyana huffed and cracked open her window. "George Strait is timeless. Fifty years from now, he will still be relevant. I enjoy just about every form of music I can experience. I wouldn't think you were the type of person that would appreciate show tunes. You shouldn't make assumptions about people. They have ways of defying expectations."

Callen hit the accelerator to pass a Hummer and glared at her. "How the heck do you know about my music habits? I'm sure those weren't in my files!" he growled.

"G. calm down. I want us there fast, not dead," Gibbs said, shaking his head.

Tatyana just smiled, enjoying the new surroundings. "Hetty told me you took her to _The Sound of Music_ at the Hollywood Bowl two weeks ago. She said it was the best night out she'd had in years. I have to admit, it makes me feel very relieved that you take such good care of her."

Callen took a deep breath and turned down a side street to alter his rout. He had to admit she had a wonderful playlist. After spending the night poring over her file, he now knew exactly how much she had suffered. Just thinking about what he had read made his blood boil. He had dealt with different levels of depraved people throughout his life; whoever this Brazanlov was, he was a special breed of evil. He would bet all the money in his pockets that the man hadn't taken Tatyana for information or even because of her family connections. If his instincts were right, (and they usually were) he'd say Brazanlov took her to mold her into his personal slave, someone to do whatever he ordered without question. Someone like Tatyana molded into a human weapon was a thought that would put the fear of God into anyone.

He turned into the parking lot of the Mission and saw Sam standing by the _Challenger_,arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. Tatyana also saw him and looked at Callen, concern filling her eyes. "Agent Hanna doesn't look like he's having a good morning."

"Don't worry about it," he replied with a flippant tone. "He's just mad that I'm having a fling outside of our partnership."

"Maybe I should remind him that I had you first, G." Gibbs said.

"Sam likes to think he's my _one-and-only_. He's the jealous type. I think it's a SEAL thing," Callen chuckled.

With the car parked, G. got out and strode around, opening the passenger door. He gave her his hand and helped her out of the car. "Thank you, sir. It is the most beautiful day, don't you think?" she said with a bright smile.

The chilly morning air nipped at their skin, turning Tatyana's pale cheeks and the tip of her nose bright red. She looked much calmer than she had last night, just as Gibbs promised. Seeing her so open and happy just being alive stirred his admiration. She still threw him off balance, and he wanted it to stop, but he had a hard time ignoring anyone he found likeable.

Sam walked up to the three of them and offered his partner a box. "I stopped and got you a blueberry muffin. Knowing you, all you've had is a double-dose of pain killers and that tea you love so much."

Sam took the concept of being an 'officer and a gentleman' to the extreme. Most of the time, he remained polite with suspects unless he was being the 'bad cop.' Callen bit back a sigh, Sam's disapproval with the arrangements obviously hadn't diminished, and he knew that the rest of his team would sense the tension. Callen didn't know how the two premier teams of NCIS (within the continental United States) could work this case without stepping all over each other, but he trusted Hetty to row the boat. He would just have to make sure of the chain of command. A meeting with Hetty and Gibbs would be the first item on his agenda for the morning.

He turned to Tatyana and smiled. "I know where Hetty keeps her special Hibiscus tea."

Tatyana nervously glanced between Callen and his partner. She keenly felt the tension between the two men, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Not knowing how, or if, she should try to diffuse the situation, she followed Callen. "I think that's a fine idea. I need to recover from my experience with Marine grade coffee."


End file.
